


we are what you created

by EclipseWing



Series: in a yellow wood [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Both Bitten AU, Character Death, Coach gets freaked out because they keep using the locker room as meeting place, F/M, Gen, Pretty much the same warnings as it would be for watching s3, S3a AU, Werewolf Scott McCall, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski, You don't have to read the ones before this but it makes more sense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-08 11:35:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 24
Words: 117,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4303305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EclipseWing/pseuds/EclipseWing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were meant to come together, meant to work as a pack on this. It wasn't meant to turn out this way.</p><p>[or: in which things are actually going okay, right up until the alpha pack decide to interfere.]</p><p>Part 3 of my both!bitten AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wolf

They run through the woods.

Malia’s fastest. Her feet are swift and light and it’s at times like these that Isaac remembers what Allison said about coyotes.

They tiptoe.

Now isn’t the time for tiptoeing. Now Malia and Isaac are running, feet pounding on the ground in time with their heart beats, the earth hard and cold beneath them. Malia’s fastest. It’s to be expected considering she used to live in the woods as a coyote. She ducks and weaves through the trees on instinct, and it’s all Isaac can do to keep up with her.

The trees end suddenly and the pair erupt out onto the tarmac of the road, frantic and wide-eyed. Malia spins around, head tilted in a way which suggests she is scenting the air.

“Where is she?” Malia is frantic. She paces several steps up the road and then turns, heading back the other direction. Her hair is loose, cascading over her shoulders in disarray. “Isaac!” Malia calls his name as if it makes their next move any clearer, “Isaac, what now?”

“I don’t know!” he looks both ways up the road, the sky dark above them, except for the moon which hangs, nearly full and illuminating the country road.

A howl rings through the air and both the werewolf and werecoyote whirl around to face the woods. Isaac’s eyes are golden while Malia’s burn blue. “We’ve got to go,” the coyote is getting antsy, backing away from the sound, “Isaac,” she whines.

“Just a little bit…” his teeth are gritted, and so it’s noticeable when he relaxes his muscles at the roar of an engine. A light flares around the road as the motorbike pulls up towards them. A woman kicks down a stand, sliding one leg over the bike and turning almost immediately to the limp body behind her.

“Hey!” Isaac feels a growl well in his throat as the woman on the motorbike makes a move towards her unconscious passenger, “Don’t touch her!”

The woman looks annoyed, hair windswept around her tanned skin, “Do you want my assistance or not?” she snaps, just as another howl sweeps through the chilled air.

Or maybe it’s not cold. Isaac’s sweating after all, but he’s terrified. He’s terrified and he’s being hunted. Cold shivers make his teeth chatter and he and Malia together grab hold of the unconscious passenger. Blonde hair slides out of her face and Isaac takes a moment to brush a strand out of her eyes.

“It will be okay, Erica,” he breathes to his friend. His pack mate, “We’re going to get you to Scott. To Derek.”

“To Stiles,” Malia adds, and Isaac just glares at her. Nonetheless the pair hoist Erica’s unconscious body between them, draping her arms around their shoulders and starting off down the road.

“Wait, wait…” Isaac pauses, turning to look at the woman who had shown up out of nowhere to rescue them. There is gunpowder clinging to her hands and she stinks of blood, “What about you?”

She shakes her hair out of her face with a laugh, “I’ll hold them off,” she says, “You go! Run!” she turns back, pumping her shotgun and grinning as she turns to the woods, “Come on!” she shouts, and Isaac stumbles backwards.

“Let’s go!” Malia’s self-preservation skills aren’t letting her stay much longer, “Isaac!”

He tears his gaze away from the woman who had rescued them, and together he and Malia begin limping along the road, half-carrying, half dragging Erica between them. He hears howls and snarls as their hunters descend towards the mercenary.

Isaac doesn’t look back.

 

The full moon is approaching. It’s a time of stress for all of them. Scott and Allison may not be dating anymore and things are sort of awkward between them, but Scott knows he can still control his shift when he needs to. Stiles is fine as long as his dad is around, and John Stilinski tends to make a habit now of taking the full moon nights off to spend the time with his son. Recently added to that is their adopted coyote.

Malia hates full moons. Stiles has managed to teach her tenuous control, but it’s still a work in progress. She had managed to control her shift last month, but due to her having a tendency to lash out, she had been forced to remain in handcuffs for the whole night and day leading up to the full moon.

Lydia had been a big help. “I thought you were done with supernatural creatures?” Stiles had joked, and Lydia had thrown the nearest available object at him. She was still against using her lake house, since her mother was beginning to worry about her spending lots of time down there, but considering the alternative was Derek’s ruined house, there sometimes weren’t a lot of options.

Isaac was insistent that Derek had an actual building of his own now, but their sporadic texts and phone calls to the other wolf meant they hadn’t actually been there yet.

“Stop worrying!” Stiles punches Scott’s shoulder, appearing from behind him. Scott’s perched on a bank, looking out over the forest. “Everything’s quiet tonight,” Stiles says, cheerfully, “The border looks fine.”

“We’re not actual wolves you know,” Scott stands with a sigh, rubbing his hands together as if cold. He’s not - he’s a werewolf - but it’s the thought that counts. “We don’t need to patrol our territory.”

Stiles shrugs, “We both know it’s not about patrolling territory, as much as keeping an eye out for Erica or Boyd. Or…” he stops, chewing his lip, “Derek said there were alphas in town, right?” his voice is hesitant, “Well where are they? It’s been… it’s been four months. They - what? Kidnapped Erica and Boyd and then didn’t even ask for a ransom? That… that’s not what people do.”

“But they’re not people,” Scott reminds his friend as they begin picking their way back through the forest towards the cars, “They’re werewolves. Alpha werewolves. And if you were arriving in a new area wouldn’t you scope it out for a while? Stay low? Let your enemy worry and waste energy by staying on guard all the time?”

His friend snorts, “On guard,” he mocks, “We had a nice peaceful summer. Allison spent most of it in France and the few times I could drag Lydia away from Danny or the shops, we did nothing productive.” His grin is wide, “It was wonderful.”

Scott pouts.

“And you might not have got your tattoo,” Stiles pats Scott’s shoulder, making sure to pat the area that only a few hours before had been burned and scarred with ink for about thirty minutes, before healing. Stiles probably does it on purpose. Asshole. “But it was an ugly thing and I hated it,” Stiles may look like he’s appearing sympathetic, but Scott knows he’s just attempting to hide glee.

Scott glares at him and Stiles sighs, spinning towards the road with a flourish. His best friend is a jerk.

That doesn’t change the fact that they’d still die for each other in an instant.

 

“Where’s Malia?”

“Isaac was helping her with geography or something,” Allison hums, “And then they were probably going to look through the town again.”

Lydia leans against the door of the car, turning to look at where Allison sits in the passenger seat, a book and a flask of hot chocolate balanced in her lap. “They’ve look through the town about - how many times now? Twenty-four? Do they really think they’re going to find anything now?”

Allison sighs, dropping her head from the economics book she had been reading, “The moment we stop searching is the moment we may as well give Erica and Boyd up as dead,” she says.

Lydia idly twirls a strand of hair around her one finger, and she glances down at the text book. She wrinkles her nose, “Studying, Allison? Really? I thought this was meant to be a night out.”

“Really? You’re going to go there? How’s Jackson?”

Lydia winces, “The doctors looked like total idiots when he turned up alive,” she sighs, “He ran off to London as soon as Derek taught him the werewolf 101.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“Have you seen him since?”

“No,” Lydia’s voice is like a taunt string, “But, whatever. He left. And seriously, an American werewolf in London? Like, that's not gonna be a disaster,” she rolls her eyes. Her tone is dismissive, but there is tension underneath it. Lydia is going to miss Jackson. She loves him still but she's not the same girl she was two months ago. She's more somewhat.

And sometime (in a few months once she's lost the urge to Molotov him again) she and Allison will pay Peter Hale a visit to learn about her immunity.

She notices Allison’s worry, “I’m fine,” she stresses, “To be honest, I’ve enjoyed it. I can see why you went so long in France without dating - it’s… kind of relaxing. Boring… but relaxing. This double date makes a nice change.”

Allison determinedly looks back at her book and begins reading, “It’s not a double date,” she says, without looking up, “Because Scott and I aren’t dating. And I don’t want to date Stiles.”

“What’s wrong with Stiles?” Lydia says, and Allison looks up because Lydia replied far too-quickly.

“Nothing,” she leans back in her seat, “I just respect him too much to want to date him.” She grins at Lydia’s puzzled frown, “He’s a friend, _dumbass_ ,” Allison teases her gently, “Anyway, all things considered it’s probably better than I’m not dating him. I mean… my aunt…” she coughs before she can finish her sentence, “…my aunt tried to _kill_ him,” she says instead because it sounds better than ‘my aunt tortured him’. “And,” she adds, “I stabbed him with daggers.”

The strawberry-blonde just shrugs, “So you have your issues,” she lauds, “What about Isaac?”

Allison’s head snaps up, and she is about to open her mouth to indignantly protest Lydia’s attempts to pair her up with a boyfriend, when her eyes focus suddenly on the gloomy road in front of her. She spots the shape and she squints to see it better, seconds before it slams straight into the car.

Her hands fly to her face as glass shatters and a scream escapes from her throat. Her hot chocolate spills to the floor, but that’s the least of her worries. Lydia is flinching back, and Allison practically throws herself out of the car and onto the tarmac.

“Oh my god!” Lydia is saying over and over, “Oh my…”

Allison’s heart is racing and she staggers backwards, gaze fixed on the large body of the deer, its head still stabbed through the car windscreen. She steps around, spotting the blood welling up. “What the hell?” she whispers, “It didn’t even swerve…”

There is the sound of pounding footsteps and Stiles and Scott crash out of the woods, eyes glowing. Stiles is faster by a good several metres, and he skids to a halt, glancing between the girls, “Are you okay? What happened - we heard screams…”

“The deer,” Lydia’s tone borders on hysterical, “It just came out of nowhere…”

“It went straight through the windshield,” Allison adds. Stiles’ nostrils flare as if he’s scenting her. He probably is, and judging she seems okay he turns towards Lydia. The strawberry blonde meets his gaze as if his help is unwelcome for a few seconds, before slumping, going limp against him as she allows the blue-eyed wolf to check her over.

Allison blinks and Scott is there, hovering in front of her. “Are you okay?” his brown eyes bore into hers and Allison just wants to sink into them.

She holds herself back, “I’m fine. Just startled… I… the deer didn’t even swerve. It was running like it couldn’t even see us…”

“Like it was scared…” Stiles whispers, “Terrified. It was running from something.”

“Maybe we spooked it?" Scott offers.

 “Or maybe there are other wolves.” Lydia suggests darkly, and in the night there are distant howls.

“Yeah,” Scott gazes into the distance, “Probably.”

It’s Lydia’s car, but Allison can still yank open the trunk and pull out a bow. Their friendship is on that level. “Well?” she glances between the wolves and Lydia, “Are we going?”

Scott looks apprehensive, but Lydia looks determined. Stiles grins, “Hell, yeah.”

 

“Are we nearly there?” Malia has no sense of direction, and Isaac peers ahead of them, up the road. He can see lights that may or may not be where the rest of their friends have parked.

“We better be,” he says, feeling Erica’s cold fingers against his neck. He hoists her up and walks a little faster.

“She weighs a tonne,” Malia grumbles.

“Hey!” Isaac chides. Erica is his friend so he is indignant on her behalf, “She’s just dead weight at the moment.”

“If she is dead when we get there,” Malia spits out, “After all this carrying, I am going to kill her and eat her.” She’s barely finished her sentence than a dark shape appears through the gloom of the night, eyes blue. Isaac almost trips over himself in alarm, but Malia relaxes.

“Stiles!” she says, and Erica almost drops off her shoulder before the coyote rescues her. Behind the blue-eyed wolf gold eyes flare and Scott jogs into view, “Scott!” Malia’s tone notably dims in enthusiasm, “We found Erica.”

“I know we say we like some meat to eat, but this is taking it to a whole new level,” Stiles hurries forwards to help them with the weight, “What the hell happened? Where was she? Did you find Boyd?”

It’s a sea of questions Isaac is swimming in. He lets Scott take Erica’s weight from him gratefully, stumbling to the side as Allison and Lydia appear, both breathing heavily.

“Oh my god,” Allison’s hand flies to her mouth, “Did you find the alphas?”

“Yes,” Malia answers, eyes wide, “They almost killed Erica. And then this _woman_ appeared with a _gun_ and...”

“She helped us!” Isaac blurts out, “She took Erica on her bike while we ran. Once out of town she gave us Erica and stayed behind to hold them off!”

“Is she dead?” Stiles was looking with worry at the blonde, “Holy - I can’t hear - can you hear her heartbeat? I can’t hear a thing, not with the moon this close to full…”

“She’s alive!” Scott whispers, “We need to get her to Derek.”

Stiles makes an abortive flailing motion for his car keys, “Get her to the jeep?”

Allison scoffs, “Really? We’re not throwing her in the back seat, Stiles.”

“So what, we go in yours which still has the body of a deer draped across the front bonnet?” Stiles scoffs, “Look - it’s my car or no car,” he jangles the keys, “Take your pick.”

 

It’s not his alarm that wakes him.

That’s what he’s expecting. That’s what is going to ruin the end of Stiles’ holiday; a loud beeping dragging him from sleep.

Instead it’s the quiet creak of his window opening and the soft groan of wood as someone moves closer, fingers brushing over the glass.

Stiles moves in an instant -  a single surge of motion throwing off his duvet and spinning around, his eyes glowing blue and his fangs bared and…

He relaxes back down when he suddenly realises who it is. Malia freezes there, looking alarmed at his reaction. He sinks back down onto his bed, thinking that he’s getting rusty. His senses are normally better than that, but then again he’s in his own home and he can hear his dad slumbering a few rooms over, his heart beat quiet and rhythmic in his head.

“Don’t do that,” he scolds Malia, even as he gestures for her to come in. Without hesitating she pushes his window open and slides through, feet padding lightly on his carpet as she makes her way over to the end of his bed and curls up there. Stiles remembers when she used to sleep there as a coyote. She doesn’t fit there now, but she sits cross-legged and hunches her weight to keep her anchored down, “We’ve been through this,” he tells her, patiently, “We don’t use the window. We use doors.”

She pulls a funny little face at that, as she tries to understand it, “But doors…”

“Are totally unnecessary and unwieldy and it hurts way more than it should when you try to knock it off its hinge with your shoulder, but they are something you are going to have to get used to.”

“Like cutlery?”

“People have standards. And most people don’t like you using your fingers at the table. Unless it’s fries.”

She pouts at him.

He sighs, “What are you doing here anyway? It’s…” he peers over to look at the clock, “One o’clock in the morning. We have school tomorrow…” and Stiles actually wants to get some sleep before the new term. That’s going to be hard enough as it is without worrying about alpha packs roaming Beacon Hills, but at least Erica is safely at the hospital. Stiles downright refused to just leave her with Derek because that guy was honestly a black pit of unhelpful at the best of times.

Melissa was going to phone later with an update. Derek had been moping around the hospital when Stiles had left with the girls. He’d apparently been the go-to driver with Lydia’s car out of commission.

“Why…” Stiles sighs, when Malia makes no effort to leave his room, “Why do I even bother dropping you at your house when all you do is come straight here?” He shifts over, thinking sometime him and Malia need to have a proper conversation about her dad.

Now isn’t the time though.

“We need to find the girl,” Malia says.

“What girl?”

“The girl who helped us.”

Stiles squints a little at the coyote before he realises what she’s talking about, “You mean the girl who helped you escape from the alphas? The one with the motorbike and _gun_ who kicked the alphas’ asses and could potentially be dangerous?”

Malia doesn’t understand sarcasm, “Yeah,” she nods her head eagerly.

“Mal, it’s the middle of the night.” She doesn’t appear to get his point so he elaborates, “We have school in the morning. We’ll look tomorrow, okay? I’m sure the girl will be fine.”

“I don’t even like school.”

“You’ve spent the whole holidays practising just so you can be in the same grade as us,” Stiles reminds her, “Not only that but I don’t want to be out tonight. Not with alphas around.” The coyote still looks like she wants to argue, so he shuffles to one side, pulling his covers back so she can lie down beside him, “Besides, I’m tired,” he says, “Go to sleep.”

“Fine,” Malia agrees, petulantly, like a sulking child. Despite that she settles down next to him but not before extracting a promise from him, “But we go out tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” he agrees, “Now go to sleep.”

“Can I…?”

“You can sleep here,” Stiles says. He doesn’t know why Malia seems to be such a social person, especially since coyotes tend not to be social, but the girl has apparently attached herself to him. He used to find it awkward, back when he still woke up screaming from nightmares, but the longer she’s been around and the more he’s gotten used to her; the less times he wakes up with thoughts of Peter _Kate_ **Alpha** running through his head.

She settles down next to him and instinctively he curls into the warm body, relaxing and trying not to think of himself like a dog, curling up against his pack mate.

He’s a werewolf, dammit. He should probably start acting like it.

 

“Hmmm, not bad,” Lydia says critically as another guy walks down the school corridor past them, “I’d give him at least a seven out of ten.”

“Lydia,” Allison hisses, hiding her face in her locker and thinking that she’s going to die from embarrassment, “They’re _fourteen_ ,” she hisses, because, hello, jailbait.

“Hmm,” Lydia frowns, “I thought they looked older.”

 

Further down the corridor, Scott is staring at Allison. He must have made it too obvious or something, because Stiles clears his throat and glances pointedly between them. “You managed the whole summer,” Stiles says, “You even got a tattoo to celebrate the lack of pining.”

“I did not pine,” Scott says, pointedly. He rubs at his arm though, still feeling like the pain, the mark should still be there.

“No,” Stiles’ voice is dripping with sarcasm, “You were the picture of manly composure and never one made me suffer through your love poetry.”

“It's weird, because she's right there. But we're not together and…”

"Is it freeing?"

Scott frowns, and he thinks he probably looks like he’s constipated. It’s hard to put his feelings into word. "It hurts," he says, "But it… I kind of like it?" Judging by Stiles’ expression his friend doesn’t understand it. But then again Stiles’ dating experience is a bit limited, considering the only girl he’s ever kissed was Lydia and that was only due to some freaky power play between them that Scott never quite understood.

There is a confused voice from down the hall and for a moment Scott and Stiles pause, heads angled towards where their new principal is checking out his office.

“Someone needs to fix up the library, it’s like a pack of wild animals got in. Not to mention the swimming pool and… what is this…?”

The pair pause, just in time to see a large broadsword being tugged out of a desk drawer. Exchanging a pair of awkwardly glances, Stiles shoves Scott away from the open office, “Hey,” his best friend says, “At least Gerard’s gone.”

“We don’t know where,” Scott complains, moodily, “You know I really thought it was going to be better this term. A fresh start.”

Stiles laughs, and there is a note of bitterness to his voice that still makes Scott flinch, thinking about Peter and Stiles with blue eyes and bloody claws and -- “You don’t need to start a new term at school to make a fresh start,” Stiles shakes his head.

"But it's not just me. It's Allison, Lydia…"

Stiles snorts, and Scott turns to look at him, "You didn't hear?" Scott asks, "Jackson went to London?"

"Really?" Stiles' interest perks for a moment, and then he dismisses it, "Nah."

"What do you mean: 'nah'?"

"That's because Jackson is like a venereal disease. Just when you think he's gone, he comes raging back. We're never going to get rid of him."

"Well, I think we might have actually succeeded this time," Scott shares.

Now Stiles just looks slightly sympathetic, "I guess the kanima thing was too much, huh? Well at least he’s out of our hair. Now we can kick back, relax and concentrate solely on these alphas and… why do you look like that?”

Scott tries not to look guiltily at the floor, “I may need my grades to improve,” he sighs, “And I can’t do that with all this… stuff… interfering with my life.”

“Well,” Stiles pats Scott’s shoulder in what is supposed to be reassuring, but just turns out to be slightly awkward, so Stiles stops after only two pats. “I’ll tell you one thing - Allison tracked down Gerard. He’s in a hospice just out of Beacon Hills. Ironically I think that may be the same place Peter stayed in. I may be wrong.” Scott is watching Stiles’ face frowning in confusion, so he sees the moment something changes. Stiles’ head snaps up, eyes narrowing.

Scott has to wait those precious few more seconds before it comes into his hearing. Fresh heart beats entering the building don’t immediately send up warning signals, but then he angles his head and all he smells is wolf.

“Oh no,” Stiles whispers, eyes flaring blue. Scott glares at him, and Stiles ducks his head, blinking them back to brown, gaze flickering up to the end of the corridor.

Scott turns, taking in the pair walking forwards. Twins. They look older than school age, but walk down the corridors as if they own the place. Lydia leans back against her locker to admire them, but then Scott meets Allison’s gaze and he watches Lydia’s smug grin fade.

The new arrivals are werewolves.

And they’re not just any werewolves.

They’re alphas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I actually started to write this - it was always something I WANTED to do, but I found 3a so difficult because I enjoyed the show's version, and so to rehash my own felt like I would use a lot of the show. Still, I had about six pages of notes and little character snippets and conversations and I finally got past the mess that was The Bank and well, it was about time.  
> Eight months, I'm sorry guys, if there is anyone still out there then thanks for waiting and I hope you enjoy! Chapters should be posted every other day.


	2. Disaster

Stiles makes it through two periods before he can’t take it anymore. “I’m sorry, dad,” he says to the sky as he heads to his jeep. He can’t just sit there at school and do nothing. He’s never just been able to do nothing, and now is the same.

His father will understand. Scott may have gone around, announcing his promises to be a better person this school year to the whole world, but that didn't mean Stiles hadn't made his own, private promises.

He stops by his home to dump his school bag. He still remembers a memorable time he had tried to hand Coach in an essay still dotted with spots of blood. Satisfied, he grabs his clothes from the previous day. They're still slightly bloody from having carried Erica to the car and her scent is all over them. Stiles can use that to track her, and if he tracks where Erica had been, then hopefully he'll find the girl who helped them.

He makes to leave and opens his bedroom door. Despite his werewolf senses, he still almost kills himself with an early and unexpected heart attack when he steps forwards only to be confronted with Malia standing on the hall waiting for him.

"Oh my _god_ \--" he shakes off his pounding heartbeat to demand, "How did you get in here?"

"The door." She gives him a proud smile - she totally remembered the window lesson. "It was unlocked." This is true, too. He did that on purpose to avoid a second broken lock this week.

"Remember, we talked about knocking? That way people know you're there and can let you in?"

"Oh. Right."

"But, hey. I'm so proud you used the door. So proud." He pauses, taking in her clothes. Lydia had managed to drag Malia to the shops at one point, but seemed unable to convince the once-coyote into skirts or dresses. Malia is wearing a stylish pair of jeans and a wool jumper with too-long sleeves that she has curled around her fisted hands. "What are you doing here?" he asks.

"I heard you were skipping school," her tone is accusatory.

“Just because I’m skipping school, does not mean I’m a good example to follow.”

“I am not going to school if you aren’t there.”

Stiles wants to argue but he's not in any position to do so, “Okay, okay, fine…” he's such a bad influence. He tosses away his bloody shirt, "Make yourself useful - we're going to where you met that girl."

 

In the daytime the road looks completely different. To Stiles and Malia though, the scents and sounds mark it out clearly as the same place. Stiles wonders sometimes if that's why he gets along better with the coyote - because they are the pair who both use their senses more than anything to help them. Scott and Derek may be stronger physically, but Stiles has other advantages he can use.

"Okay, so tell me what happened last night," Stiles demands, tracing his steps back along the side of the road. Malia slips past him, taking the lead as she follows the trail back towards town.

"I'm not sure," she says, "We were running pretty quickly." She pauses, trying to orientate herself, "We met up about here," she says, "The girl found us at the bank and told us to run. She took Erica on her bike and we ran. We met up again here because Isaac didn't want to leave Erica with her. We headed straight for you guys and she…" Malia freezes, head spinning around and gaze fixed on something in the distance. "This way!" she says, taking off.

Stiles barely manages to keep up. The coyote girl is more used to travelling quickly through the woods, and she darts between twigs and leaves as if it's second nature. Stiles twists and turns and it's only as he gets closer that he manages to separate the scent she's picked out from all the other scents clouding his head.

Malia skids down a leafy slope. There is a girl lying at the bottom, a pile of leather and dark hair. She looks dead, but Stiles can hear her heart beating.

"She's alive," Malia whispers from where she crouches over the woman, "But only just. She needs a hospital."

"No…" the girl moans. She's older than them - looks to be in her late twenties. Her eyelashes flutter as Stiles leans over her and she struggles weakly to sit up.

"Woah," Stiles says, finally seeing where all the blood is coming from. There's an open wound on her neck.

An open claw wound.

"You need a hospital," he says, "You need a doctor…" he's already sacrificing another shirt to a bloody cause, tearing it into strips that he hands to Malia.

"I don't know what to do with these!"

"What do you mean you don't - never mind, give them here," the woman flinches under his touch, protesting with a half-whine in the back of her throat.

"No hospitals," she mumbles, "No… the alpha…"

"The alphas aren't here," Stiles shakes his head, still trying to stop the bleeding, "It's okay - you're safe, so is Erica…"

"I need… to speak…" the girl coughs a little, blood dribbling down her chin, "Need to speak to the alpha. Need to tell… him…"

Stiles leans back, frowning at her, "You mean Derek? What do you want with Derek Hale?"

"No…" the girl whispers, closing her eyes, "Not Hale. McCall." Her shoulders shudder as she convulses, coughing up blood.

"That can't be good," Malia says.

"Hey! Hey, stay with me! What do you mean McCall? Scott? Scott McCall?"

But it's too late.

The girl is already unconscious.

 

Malia and Stiles aren't in school.

Then again, neither is Isaac.

Scott sits down at English, frowning, because the last time he checked Stiles had definitely been around that morning. Which means he's left since. Scott sighs - and here he was trying to set a good example.

"Have you seen Stiles?" He jumps when Allison sits down in front of him in English. She looks apologetic, looking around nervously, "Sorry… was this seat taken?"

"Uh… no…"

Things are better between them, but Scott still feels awkward. He had seen him and Allison in five years’ time, together and happy. He'd never predicted this, this distance, this separation, the lies and secrets that had burned between them.

He offers her a weak smile, "I think Stiles skipped. Malia isn't here either."

He notices Allison's expression cloud slightly, seconds before there is a buzzing from his pocket. Next to him someone's phone beeps cheerily, and there is some more buzzing and muted chimes as everyone's phone goes off simultaneously.

He clicks the screen of his own cell on, peering at it. The number isn't familiar. The words are strangely lyrical and though not familiar, the style and tone is.

Scott's done his summer reading.

"The offing was barred by a black bank of clouds and the tranquil waterway leading to the uttermost ends of the earth flowed sombre under an overcast sky, seemed to lead into the heart of an immense darkness."

Their new English teacher is a woman, long curly brown hair and dark eyes. Her high-heels clip importantly on the floor as she enters the classroom, sliding her phone closed and slipping it away, "That, is a quote, from the novel we will be studying this year. Joseph Conrad's 'Heart of Darkness'. That is also going to be the last text or call you will receive in this class. I want your full attention…"

"How the hell did she get all our phone numbers?"

Scott looks to his left. He might have forgotten to save Stiles a seat, but Lydia has spread herself out across two desks, her bag and jacket on one and herself in another, frowning down at the text message that everyone received.

"It's required," Allison says over one shoulder, "We have to give the numbers to the school, she probably picked them all up…"

"I knew that," Lydia doesn't turn her phone off, Scott notes. She locks the screen and pockets it, still looking frustrated. Her pen taps at the paper as if she wants to stab it. Scott notes her gaze keeps wandering to the two empty seats.

"Mr McCall," Ms Blake stops right in front of him, and his chair squeaks as he struggles to sit upright and look attentive, "Do you know where Malia Tate or…" she stops, frowning at her piece of paper that contains the register, "I… is this a word?"

"We call him 'Stiles'," Lydia says. "And they're not here."

There are whispers in the classroom, and Scott wonders if the pair even realise what rumours they're starting off. He tries to remember what lie he and Stiles had agreed upon…

"They had a meeting with someone," Allison says, and Scott doesn't understand why he relaxes the instant the new teacher's gaze turns away from him. Allison seems unbothered by the stare, merely shrugging, "Stiles has been tutoring Malia over the summer, and they were meeting someone to check up on her curriculum, to allow her to stay with her age group."

"Oh," Ms Blake nods in understanding, "I'll have a talk with them. Thank you, Allison. Right, now who has done their summer reading…?”

Her lesson is interrupted before it's begun with the ringing of a phone.

"Miss Martin," Jennifer Blake's smile is thin, "I thought I told you to turn your phone off."

"I'm sorry," Lydia really didn't look sorry as she scooped up her ringing phone, "But I have to take this." She then proceeds to answer it, still ignoring their teacher. Scott twists his head, trying to hear the other side of the conversation but before he can focus Lydia's expression turns into something akin to confusion and annoyance and she glances to him. "It's for you," she mouths, passing the phone across the saved desk to Scott.

"Uh… hello?"

"Mr McCall," his teacher sounds annoyed, but he tunes it out as his best friend's voice echoes over the phone.

"Scott? Oh thank god--" Stiles' voice is cut off by his mother speaking over him.

"Scott? Sweetie, we think it might be a good idea if you come down to the hospital. Stiles and Malia - they found the girl."

 

"She's sedated at the moment," Melissa says when Scott arrives. His bike is parked in the parking lot, and his mother hurries him through the hospital, past nurses in scrubs and doctors with stethoscopes around their necks.

"But she's alive, right?" Scott asks.

His mother nods, "Stiles and Malia found her just in time. She said she wanted to talk to you."

"She was awake?"

"For a bit. Look, Scott… are you sure you want to do this?"

He pauses, glancing down the corridor and trying to avoid his mom's gaze, "Do what?"

"All this…" Melissa waves a hand around, "This supernatural stuff. I thought you weren't going to go back to that. That you were moving forwards, that was what the tattoo was about, wasn't it?"

Scott swallows, and finally meets his mother's worried brown eyes. She hadn't been fond of his plan. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. But I can get one, I'm old enough. You knew I was going to."

"Yes, I did, and I'm not really in a position to judge you…" she trails off.

Scott blinks a few times to register the words

"Mom, do you have a tattoo?"

"That's not the point. Where is it anyway?"

"It healed," Scott rubs at his arm where it was, "It was here, but it healed. Stiles was ridiculously pleased. I'm going to ask Derek."

"Derek? Why Derek?"

"He has a triskele tattooed on his back. That means it must be possible, right?"

"Look, Scott, are you sure you want to do this?"

"I wanted a tattoo when I turned eighteen anyway…"

Melissa interrupts, shaking her head, "I'm not talking about a tattoo… I mean - this summer - everything you've been doing - the extra reading, the summer school, that damn bike that scares me half to death, your words of the day…"

"Ephemeral," Scott says, thinking about what it means. Transient. Momentary. Something fleeting, something that only lasts for a short time… he feels like it describes his life right now. From the tattoo that healed, to his fading love for Allison, right down to the answers he seeks that always escape him.

Melissa leans back, "Exactly," she says, as if she's made her point, "You seemed to be finding a rhythm, but if all this stuff starts up again are you sure you're going to be able to cope?"

Scott's voice trembles as he answers, "I-I'm gonna be better this year. A better student, a better son, a better friend, a better everything. I promise."

With a sigh his mother steps back, gesturing down the corridor. "The girl is in room 216."

 

"Did you know that there were 247,000 vehicle accidents last year involving deer? But that was just crossing the road and I'm telling you - that accident wasn't natural."

John Stilinski sighs, his head sinking down into his palm, "I knew I shouldn't have let you spend half the night reading up on deer."

"I didn't spen the whole night. I was asleep until Malia turned up."

"Yeah, about that, we need to talk about Malia. In fact, we need to talk about this with Malia. Potentially even with her dad…"

"Aw, no, don't get her dad involved," Stiles can't help the whine that creeps into his voice, "Do you know how many therapists he's had Malia seeing? She tried to bite the last one. With her _teeth_."

"I hope you told her…"

"I explained we don't bite people. Not without clear and concise consent. Unless it's Derek. I told her she could bite Derek whenever she wanted."

Stiles thinks his dad may be getting a headache because he rubs at his temple again. That's about the moment Stiles hears the elevator open and notices Scott step out of it. His friend looks and smells worried, slightly panicked, but at least his heart isn't racing.

"Dude," Stiles frowns, "You took your time."

"I'm sorry - there was this blind guy in the elevator who needed help down the corridor…"

"Sometimes," Stiles says, "You are too nice for your own good." Scott's face gains this puzzles little crease as he ponders that sentence, so Stiles jerks his thumb over his shoulder, "She's in that room."

Scott slips past him, even as the Sheriff bristles with annoyance, "He can't just walk in there…"

"Scott needs to talk to her…"

"Stiles, what is going on here? You bring this girl in and the doctors find a modified military stun gun in her belongings. Who the hell is she?"

"I don't know…"

"That's not reassuring…"

"Uh - guys?" Scott leans back from the doorway, eyes wide, "Is this the right room?"

"Yes, it's the right room, Scott," Stiles' tone is unusually snappish and annoyed, but Scott barely flinches.

"There's nobody in here," he says.

"What?" the Sheriff pushes past Stiles, and he moves, bouncing a little on his feet before following his dad. He stops at the doorway next to Scott. The bed covers are pushed back, sheets wrinkled and the IV line is gone. His dad stalks around the room, but Scott is right.

The room is empty.

 

There are four empty seats in their English class. The teacher - new, kind of pretty, looks a bit dim - is ignoring them, continuing her lecture of themes and motifs in the novel they're meant to be studying.

The woman turns her back for a few seconds and Allison uses that time to relocate next to her best friend. Lydia's eyes flicker to her and she smiles, then glances back down to where she's making notes.

Allison leans over, asking the question that's been nagging at her since this morning, "Hey," she catches Lydia's attention, "What happened to your leg?"

"Oh, this?" Lydia shifts one perfect heel, revealing the bandage on her ankle, "It's nothing. Prada bit me."

"Your dog?"

" _No_ , my designer handbag."

Allison shoots her friend an unimpressed look.

"It's nothing," Lydia shrugs one shoulder, "She was a bit edgy last night. I think she's ill - she's not normally like that."

"You mean she doesn't normally bite you?" Allison frowns, because there's something wrong with that. Some pattern she's not seeing. She almost wishes Stiles was here. He has a knack for spotting patterns.

Something smashes into the window and Allison blinks.

"The deer," she says, "The dog… what is it that Stiles always says about threes?"

"Once, twice… thrice…" Lydia isn't looking at Allison, she's staring outside.

Allison follows her gaze, and outside the sky is black with the wings of birds, seconds before they hit the school.

No, she thinks. Not the school.

Just their classroom.

A window shatters as one finally hits hard enough and instantly chaos breaks out. Their teacher shouts to get down and Allison and Lydia drop from their chairs to the floor so fast it probably says something about the number of times they've been in situations like this. Overhead is a whirlwind of feathers and loud, raucous caws. The birds - crows, she thinks - are everywhere. They've reached the building and can't fly any further. They throw themselves around the room with thumps and a flutter of wingbeats, beating in a tornado of black around their heads.

Allison wishes she'd taken her dad's advice and just taken the first day off.

 

"I can't…"

"Just try…"

"I don't think this is working…"

"Shhh…" Stiles violently hisses at them, his eyes closed and his face scrunched up in concentration. John has no idea what it must be like for his son, trying to filter through the noises of the hospital for one specific sound. Stiles keeps tilting his head, glancing blindly around as if visualising everything. Scott stands nearby, holding his breath so as not to disturb his friend. "Okay," Stiles says, "There's something odd on the second floor."

"And you're sure it's her? You didn't even notice the girl sneaking out!"

"I had to drop Malia off at home! I wasn't here the whole time!"

"Boys!" John stops the pair bickering, worried about the dangerous edge to their arguments that occurs far too often nowadays, "It's nobody's fault and besides, there is nothing we can do about it now except find her. Scott - you head to the second floor. Stiles, you head to the entrance and see if she's left yet or if anyone has seen her. I will look for the cameras…" he sighs as in his pocket his mobile phone rings. It's probably the department, and he grabs it, turning away from his sons, "What now," he mumbles, frowning at the number, "Lydia?"

 

Lydia looks up when Stiles' dad appears, fifteen minutes later. "I got here as fast as I could," he says, "Are you two okay?" he glances from Lydia to where Allison is talking to her dad. The Sheriff narrows his eyes at Chris Argent in suspicion.

"We're fine," Lydia says, arms wrapped around herself. She tries not to look at the dead birds that litter their classroom, and she tries not to think about the beating wings pounding down on them. Nearby, their new teacher looks like she's in shock.

Lydia's throat still itches and she still wants to scream. She keeps it down, biting at her lip. It feels hot and swollen beneath her tongue from already being chewed too much.

"This…" the Sheriff looks around at the classroom, "This wasn't normal, was it?"

Lydia shakes her head numbly. There is a creak of leather as Chris Argent takes a step towards the Sheriff, "I don't think this is a coincidence," he says, grimly.

"It's not," Lydia whispers, "First the deer, then my dog, now this?"

"Is it the alphas?" the Sheriff lowers his voice.

Allison's dad frowns, "Werewolves don't usually elicit this sort of reaction from the local wildlife. Remember, the Hales have been in Beacon Hills for centuries. No, this is something else."

A phone rings and with a sigh and a rub of his eyes, the Sheriff steps away to answer it.

"Next time you want to stay at home, you stay home," Chris whispers quietly to Allison. She shrugs off his reassuring hand though.

"I'm sick of hiding," she says, "I want to fight. To do something…"

"It's dangerous," Chris warns.

Lydia lets out a brief laugh, "As if it hasn't been dangerous already," she deadpans, "Honestly, at this rate it's almost the norm."

"That sounds about right," the Sheriff re-joins their conversation, "That was Deaton."

"Scott's creepy boss?" Allison asks. Lydia shoots her a weird look, because that sounds more like something Stiles would say.

The Sheriff nods, "All the cats are dead. He thought at first someone broke in, but apparently they all did it to themselves. They clawed themselves to pieces." He is silent for a moment. "It's been like the whole day. Suicidal deer, pets behaving aggressively… it's like there's something in the water."

"So it's supernatural?"

"When isn't it nowadays?"


	3. Wound

"Is it just me, or is Beacon Hills turning into more like Beacon For The Totally Bizarre and Supernatural?" Lydia asks Allison as they head to their locker to grab their things. The Sheriff has left to go chase up on another weird animal behaviour report, and Allison just hopes he spends the time quizzing Deaton properly. Apparently the vet can be cryptic. At least according to Stiles.

Allison's father just wants her to leave it alone, but they both know that's not going to happen.

"I should have let my dad drive us home," Allison whispers, sliding books and paper into her bag.

"What?" Lydia turns to her.

Allison shakes her head, "Nothing," she says, closing her locker and then almost jumping out of her skin when she sees someone the other side, "Woah!" she says, taking in the tanned girl, dark hair fluttering loosely around her shoulders, "Are you okay?"

There is a thick wad of bandages around the girl's throat and her eyes are closed, "Huh?" the girl blinks her eyes open, focussing on Allison, "Yes, I'm fine. You're Allison, right? Do you know where I can find Scott McCall?"

"He… uh… he's at the hospital…"

"Typical," the girl rolls her eyes.

"Wait a minute," Allison reaches out, just as the girl sways heavily, "You're the one who saved Erica."

Lydia's brow rises, "Really?" she says, sceptically as the girl looks seconds away from fainting.

"Will Scott be back?"

"Let me phone him. Don't go anywhere…" Allison's voice trails off when she realises the girl has already fainted, "Well that will work."

Lydia just regards the girl with one elegantly arched eyebrow, "People tend to faint a lot around me," she notes, with some subtle dramatic flair.

Allison blinks in bewilderment.

"What?" Lydia crouches to check the girl's pulse, "It's a thing. Last time I had someone faint on me it was Derek and I had to drag his unconscious ass to my lake house and then convince you to steal a bullet so Stiles and I wouldn't have to cut his arm off."

Allison remembers that. She recalls Stiles and Lydia calling her and asking her to steal a bullet from her aunt.

From her aunt who had a mini arsenal in a backpack.

Shaking her head to get rid of the memories, Allison lifts her phone, dialling Scott.

"Scott? Hi, you know that girl…"

"Sorry!" she hears over the phone, then there is a loud thump, "Can't talk now."

Allison drops the phone from her ear and stares at it a moment. "He hung up on me," she says numbly, feeling slightly betrayed.

Lydia rolls her eyes, "Plan B. I'm calling Stiles."

 

Scott's back hits the wall, all his breath leaving his lungs in a rush. He slides down, his shirt riding up uncomfortably but he ignores that, twisting to one side and out of the way as a fist comes crashing down where his head was, seconds before.

Scott wonders how he gets into situations like this.

The alpha attacking him is large and brutish. His eyes are blood red and his claws swipe through the air far too close for comfort. Scott had found the alpha where Stiles had said he would be on one of the upper floors of the hospital. There was no sign of the girl, just an angry alpha annoyed by his meddling.

The werewolf leans over Scott, grabbing his jacket and tugging him up to eye level. Scott's eyes flicker gold faintly as he struggles in the other werewolf's grip, "Where is she?" the brute demands, shaking Scott slightly, "Where is the girl?"

"I don't know," Scott says between fanged teeth. Seconds later he is flying through the air, his back hitting a closed elevator door. Reaching out he manages to slam his fist on the button, the doors opening behind his back. He falls into the elevator, backing away from the alpha stalking down the corridor towards him.

His back hits something warm and soft. Legs. Scott freezes. He hadn't known there were two of them.

But in front of him, the approaching alpha stops, gaze fixed on the person standing behind Scott. Scott hesitates, and then glances up.

Derek Hale peers down at him with a frown, "Shouldn't you be in school?"

The alpha roars and charges them. With a ding, the elevator doors close in his face and Scott slumps back in relief. Derek stalks to the door, just in case something goes wrong.

"The girl…" Scott says from his position on the floor.

"Yeah, I know. Isaac told me," Derek answers curtly.

"Isaac…?" Scott doesn't understand how Isaac knew about the girl.

"Malia." The Hale Alpha is answering in grunts and single word sentences. It's not looking good.

"Oh," Scott blinks, and then shakes his head, "No, not, it's not okay, you don't understand. She's gone."

The elevator grinds to a halt and the doors ping open. There is a flash of movement from the entrance and Derek spins around, looking about ready to jump whichever poor hospital worker he finds there.

"Woah!" Stiles steps back, well out of Derek's reach, "I know you and I have our differences, but is that really how you feel?"

Derek relaxes, hands uncurling from the fists they had been. Scott reluctantly pushes himself up from the floor.

"What happened to you?" his best friend helps him out of the elevator with a frown.

"Uh…" Scott smooths down his hair, rubbing at his already healing jaw, "Nothing…"

"One of the alphas was here," Derek steps forwards, taking in the blue and gold eyed betas, "He was looking for the girl."

"She's not here." Stiles' tone is a deadpan.

"We know that," Derek sounds impatient.

"But we know where she is. Allison and Lydia found her at the school."

 

"This better be good," Lydia crosses her arms as the boys pull up, each in their own vehicle. Stiles' jeep makes an awful rattle, as if it is about to die. Then again that is its usual sound. Scott has a new motorbike, while Derek--

"What happened to the Camaro?" Lydia arches one eyebrow, "I liked the Camaro."

Next to her, Allison cranes her neck at the big black SUV, "I like it," she says.

"You would. Hunter."

"And proud," Allison grins as Scott drops his helmet on the seat of his bike and steps forwards.

"Why are we meeting here?" he pulls a face as he looks around the clearing of the Hale House.

"Nostalgia," Stiles shrugs, his gaze sliding straight past the two girls to the seat of Allison's car. Lydia just hopes her own gets fixed soon, not having a car is proving to be a huge inconvenience. "What was she doing at the school?" the blue-eyed beta keeps trying to inch past and Lydia sidesteps neatly in front of his path. He narrows his eyes at her and she smirks, smugly.

"She was looking for Scott," Allison says, opening the door and Derek and Scott move around to see, "She's not in good shape."

She's really not. Blood has soaked through the bandage wrapped there and Allison has already applied another layer from her first aid kit.

"What are we going to do with her?" Scott looks anxious, "She's already escaped from the hospital once, and the Sheriff is asking questions--"

"She was carrying military grade equipment," Stiles calls from where Lydia still blocks him off. He could probably get around her with ease, but it’s the principle of things, "If we bring her back to the hospital, someone is going to have to ask questions."

"No--" Everybody jumps half a mile at the grating voice from the car. The girl's eyes flutter open weakly, "No hospitals."

"But you're injured," Allison says, surprisingly gently. It always amazes Lydia how someone so capable with blades and arrows can be so kind-hearted and soft at other times.

"No hospitals," the girl says, her chest rising and falling as she obviously struggles to breath.

"But my mom--"

"No, she's right," Stiles is standing behind Lydia with his arms crossed, examining the scene, "Melissa is only a nurse. She might be able to fudge a few records regarding quick healing teenage werewolves, she might be able to make sure she's around when we need her, but not even your mom can be around all the time. There were alphas there already, what about later, when we go home? She's in danger there.”

There's a pause, and Lydia just stays silent, hoping that nobody remembers she has a house down by the lake. She got enough questions from her mom last time, let alone--

"Fine," Derek grunts, "I've got a place. She can stay with me."

"You…" Stiles turns to look at the ruins of the Hale House behind him, "…do not own a place. There is no way you still live here." He pauses, "You don't still live here, do you? Dude, I knew you were a rough and tough sort of guy, but this is sort of pushing it. There's not even any running water…"

"Not here, idiot," Derek looks seconds away from rolling his eyes, "I bought a building downtown. The council reclaimed the land."

"Oh, thank god," Lydia sighs, "That means we can stop meeting here."

"Scott--" the girl looks like she's trying to clamber out of the car, "McCall--"

"I'm here," Scott shifts into her view, "You - wanted to talk to me?" he sounds uneasy. Worried. Lydia would be too if a woman carrying the same types of guns that this girl did wanted to talk to her. "Why do you want to talk to me?"

"And why…?" Stiles finally succeeds in sliding around Lydia, "Why did you help Isaac and Malia get Erica away from the alphas last night?"

"Someone hired me," the girl says, weakly.

"You're a mercenary?" Derek sounds disgusted.

"For the right price," a smirk flickers onto her face, "Girl's gotta' eat. Name's Braeden."

Lydia narrows her eyes as Derek smiles back - actually smiles. Out of the corner of her eyes she's aware of Stiles doing a double-take. "Are you flirting with each other?" Allison gapes at the pair, but as soon as she says it, Derek face slides back to monotone, "Maybe another time," the huntress suggests, "It's weird," she narrows her eyes at Derek, then turns back to Braeden, "Who hired you?" she asks, "What do you know about the alphas?"

"And why do you want to talk to me?" Scott inputs, quickly.

"I know their leader is called Deucalion," Braeden replies, "I know they've come to Beacon Hills because they're after something." Her gaze rests on Derek and then slowly but surely, flicks over to Scott. "You."

He blinks, "Me? Why would they back after me?"

"They're scared of you," Braeden shrugs, "Hell, if even half the rumours about you are true, I can see why."

"Rumours?" Scott mouths, seemingly dumbstruck.

"What rumours?" Lydia demands.

"You don't have an alpha," Braeden says, and Derek looks mildly offended, "But you still have a pack. You _lead_ a pack. You, a beta, lead a pack."

"I don't have a pack," Scott frowns.

Lydia clears her throat, "Actually, I think you kind of do," she says, her gaze purposely drifting from Stiles who looks uneasy, to Allison who stands strong and prepared and then to Scott, nervous, but brave and determined.

Nobody disagrees. Not even Derek.

 

"Come on, let's get her into my car," Derek helps Braeden limp across to his new SUV. Scott helps.

"Okay, seriously, what happened to the Camaro?" Stiles points out, as if it is suddenly really important.

"Can't I buy a new car, Stiles?" Derek even sounds irritated, "It was Laura’s. Laura is dead. I bought a new car. I can't… I have to move on."

It's actually a mature thing to do, and probably a healthy thing for Derek. Stiles doesn't seem to think so but then this is his friend now, bitter and antagonistic at all opportunities.

"Uh, Derek…" Scott should say it now, before it is too late, "I have a question - you know that tattoo--"

 

"I still don't get why you want this," Stiles pulls a face, "Ugh, needles."

"It's a rite of passage," Scott has given up trying to make Stiles see reason. "It means 'to mark something' in tahitian, but in samoan it means 'open wound'. I just thought… it felt appropriate. I was going to get one when I turned eighteen anyway, I just decided that after everything that has happened…" he shrugs, "It feels like an open wound."

Derek shrugs, as if to say that was a good enough reason for him, and he turns to his bag to rummage through it.

"Did you see the door?" Stiles asks Scott in a low voice, "He repainted it."

"That's where the alphas marked…" Scott falls silent as Derek turns around, as if the older werewolf hadn’t heard them.

"Yes," Derek agrees, "And you two really shouldn't be getting involved.”

"Too late for that," Stiles scoffs, crossing his arms. He looks around and flinches back as Derek produces a blowtorch from somewhere, "Woah! Dude!" he takes several steps backwards, "How is a blowtorch is going to help? Are you going to burn it into his skin? In that case, why doesn't Peter have loads of tattoos?"

Derek glares at Stiles, who grins back, completely unabashed about his joke. "I have no idea how Peter put up with you," he mutters under his breath.

"Apparently he liked me," Stiles shrugs, and Scott hates how casual his friend is when Peter comes into the conversation. It's too casual, too fake and it makes him uncomfortable, even six months later.

"It's not the heat alone," Derek explains, his voice growling slightly and he gestures at Scott's arm, "The ink is already in place, it's just under the skin. The heat brings it back out and makes it permanent."

Stiles wrinkles his nose, “So what’s with the wolfsbane?” he gestures at the plants sitting innocuously on Derek’s bag.

“If brewed correctly, they help speed up the healing process.”

“I thought they were poisonous.”

“Just trust me… okay?”

Stiles holds up his hands, “Fine, okay… I just don’t like the stuff. Ugh, your house is coated in the it. Which makes no sense, because your family were werewolves, yet the stuff grows around here like weeds," he gestures around, studiously ignoring the patch of house with no floorboards and filled in earth that had once been a grave.

"It grew after the fire," Derek says, voice level. Older, Scott thinks and more relaxed, at least when Stiles isn't making barbed insults.

"Oh," Stiles seems to realise he's gone too far, "You know, maybe I should just… I'll help the girls, look after Braeden..."

"Stay," Derek commands, "I need someone to hold him down."

"That… that doesn't sound good."

 

The howls carry outside to where Allison and Lydia wait, their shoulders tense, "That doesn't sound good," Lydia comments, idly, "What are they doing, murdering him?"

"I think he's getting a tattoo," Allison frowns, "Wow, they sound painful."

"I…" Lydia announces primly, "Am never getting a tattoo."

"Do you think he's still alive?" Allison asks, as the sounds die down.

"I'm not going to check."

"Deucalion will kill him," Braeden murmurs from the car. It doesn't sound promising, Lydia thinks. Then again, when does it. "He thinks Scott's a threat. Not now. But he will be," she laughs weakly, and Lydia thinks she should really be at the hospital. She sounds delirious. She just hopes Derek has some magical mystery cure.

"Why?" Allison asks, "Why is Scott a threat? He's a teenage boy. We're all just a bunch of teenagers."

Braeden blinks, lazily rolling her head to see Allison, "You are now," she says, "But you won't be forever. One day you'll be dangerous. He knows that. Why else do you think he's trying to deal with you now?"

 

Scott rubs at his tattoo like it hurts. Tingles. Stiles doesn't really want to look at the permanent black lines marking his best friend's skin.

He's never been a fan of change.

"You sure about this?" Scott asks, looking nervously towards where people swill into a house lit with bright lights. Stiles doesn't recognise anybody, but even from hear he can make out every single sound of the building, hear and smell the familiar scent of his childhood friend.

Or - more like one of those friends he only made because their moms used to get them together and have baby parties, but, whatever. Technicalities. He liked her well enough.

"Yes. And don't give me that look, we need to do this. It will be fine," Stiles doesn't know if he's talking to himself or Scott.

"Are you sure," or Malia, he thinks, who looks more nervous than either of them.

"Can you two stop being so negative?"

"I just don't know," Malia debates, looking at the party with dread, "The last party I went to everybody went crazy and Lydia knocked Stiles unconscious with wolfsbane."

"Well that is why I didn't invite Lydia," Stiles jokes, "Besides. Last time, you were a coyote. This time, you're human. Which means you can drink."

"Drink?" Malia pauses, "Oh, you mean alcohol drink!" she looks bright eyed and happy, just like every time she works something out.

"That's my coyote!" Stiles claps his hands together, "All ready?"

"Wait, no, how does my breath smell?" Scott waves a hand in front of his face, sniffing the air.

"I am not smelling your breath, dude."

"Do you have gum?"

"No! No gum. You're fine! Just fine…"

"What kind of party is this anyway…?"

"It's a birthday party."

"A birthday party! I didn't bring any gifts!"

"You still give people presents at seventeen?"

"Malia, you can give people presents anytime - hey! There is the birthday gi--" Stiles is suddenly assaulted with a strong scent of perfume layered over familiar childhood and then suddenly he's kissing Heather. It takes him a moment to readjust. His last kiss was Lydia. That kiss was violent and dominant and more of a power-play than anything else--

This is warm. Pleasant. Soft, nice almost…

Heather draws back. Stiles is vaguely aware of Scott's jaw hanging somewhere near ground level. And Malia is--

Malia is growling.

"Nice to see you too," Stiles says, still somewhat dumbstruck.

"So glad you could make it!"

"Me too," he says, grinning, "This is Malia," he gestures at the girl, "And Scott, you remember Scott--"

"Come downstairs," Heather tugs at his hands, "Help me pick out a bottle of wine…"

"Stiles," Malia's eyes are wide and panicked, "Don't leave me--"

The coyote isn't jealous. Stiles doesn't even think Malia would understand jealousy. Besides, she looks more like she's going to run and hide. If she was furry with four legs and a tail she would be trembling, ears back, pressed into his arms and--

Heather is standing there like she expects Stiles to go with her. Downstairs. Downstairs where she looks like she plans to kiss him again and Stiles doesn't object, he really has no objections, more kissing sounds good but--

Claws pierce his skin and he tries to focus through the swimming sounds, "How about I-- I'll  be down in a bit. I need--"

Air, space, silence, his dad…

"A glass of water."

Heather's face falls, but there is still a note of hope. The intent in her eyes has faded, thankfully, although Stiles feels a tinge of disappointment. He slides away, grabbing a drink and downing it.

"Easy there," Danielle says. Stiles takes a step away from her on instinct, because he still remembers her pouring a glass of water over his head.

He can barely taste the alcohol. It doesn't do anything in the slightest.

"You okay?" Malia is there suddenly, "Was she kissing you? Was it any good? Are you and her going to mate? Have pups?"

Stiles is half-way through his second drink and he chokes, spitting it out. Danielle wrinkles her nose and moves away, pausing to ward off a still dumbfounded Scott. "What? No, Malia, we don't, humans don’t… we don't have pups. Not until we're old. Very, very old." He pauses, trying to recall how long coyotes live for, "Wait - have you have pups?"

Malia shakes her head, "There were other coyotes," she says, "But they thought I was weird. At least, I think they did. It's hard to understand coyote."

"Humans don't… we care more about the emotions behind relations. Unless it’s a random hook-up, in which case we're just in it for the pleasure. But you have to use protection, otherwise you might end up pregnant. And you can't just give it up after a few months, you'd be stuck with this pup for nine months. Nine months and then sixteen years, and you don't want that."

Malia wrinkles her nose, "So do you have protection? What do you need to protect yourself from?"

"From getting pregnant," Stiles can't believe he hasn't had this conversation with her before, "Because when a man and a woman…" he waves his hands around, "do it… they sometimes make babies. So protection - stops babies being made and--"

Stiles stops, and nearby Scott just blinks, "I think I joined this conversation at the wrong time," he says, still looking like a deer in the headlights.

"So use protection, don't have pups, make sure you have emotional feelings for the peron unless it’s a random hook-up. Is this a random hook-up?"

"Is this--" Stiles pauses, "I don't know."

Scott nods, "I think it was," he looks awed.

"Do you have protection?" Malia asks with such concern that Stiles feels almost mothered. Which makes no sense considering he'd just lectured her on this, she has no right to use his own warnings against him.

"Yes," he snaps, "No. But I will, and I'm going."

"Good luck on your random hook-up!" Malia says, bouncing a little on her feet supportively and looking excited. Scott looks even more confused and Stiles takes a step towards the basement and--

There's something. A noise. A smell. A sense of danger but suddenly--

Something is wrong.

"Stiles?" Scott sounds alarmed when he takes off, "Stiles?" but he is already through the door, down the stairs and--

There is nothing down there but dust and wine bottles. Shelves and shelves of them, but beneath that--

He can smell Heather. Perfume and soap. He can smell her fear. Acrid. Bitter.

But there's something else. A tang in the air. It reminds him of the mountain ash Lydia had thrown down around the club that once. Electric.

Ozone, he thinks. It smells like ozone.

"Stiles?" Scott lingers at the top of the stairs, "Stiles - is everything okay?"

"She's not here," Stiles says dumbly, "She's not… not here."

"So - no random hook-up?"

Maybe she left, he thinks. Yeah, that's it. She got tired of waiting and left. He probably upset her, showing up with another girl. He never even got a chance to explain how - yeah, this is the girl I found in the woods and she kind of imprinted on me while a coyote…

"No," he says, moving back up the stairs, "She's gone. I just… I thought I heard something."

"I told you," Malia says, stubbornly, "Parties suck."


	4. Ephemeral

"Did you know, that according to a 2400 year old document, in Ancient Greece snakes and rats abandoned town just before an earthquake struck Helice? There are hundreds of tales - chickens don't lay eggs, cows won't give milk, bees abandon their hive days, hours, even minutes before tornados strike."

Stiles appears to be marching off, and Malia trails after him, feeling a little lost. She always does feel this way when Stiles goes off on one of his rants, but she loves listening to them all the same, even if they don't make much sense to her.

Things make more sense after summer school. But it’s still difficult, impossible sometimes to catch up with six, seven years of education.

"And this is important to me getting passing grades how?" She's pretty sure that had been what they were talking about.

They were talking about that, right?

"Dogs though, dogs apparently are the most consistent. They think it's something to do with their sensitivity to geological vibrations, electromagnetic changes, shifts in atmospheric pressure - however they do it, they abandon cities before hurricanes, tunnels before floods. Their behaviour changes before disaster hits. Something must have come to Beacon Hills. Or will come. Some disaster that hasn't hit yet…"

"And you think it is because of the alpha pack?"

Stiles looks grim. His jaw is clenched and he's staring at where the two twin alphas are stalking into the high school like they own it.

"I _want_ one," Lydia appears by Stiles' elbow, "You can have the gay one if Danny doesn't beat you there and--"

Malia wrinkles her nose, peering around Stiles to look at Lydia. She's examining the twins the way Malia has eyed a rabbit once. Like a piece of meat, "Do you have a thing for werewolves?" Malia asks, "Stiles told me you liked the big bad ones like that funny looking guy who turned into a lizard--"

Lydia has stopped, looking pale, " _Werewolves_?" she asks.

"Yeah," Stiles says, head tilting towards her, "The twins are alphas. Didn’t Allison tell you?”

"No,” she huffs, “So next time," Lydia slides her bag over her shoulder, "I'd appreciate it if someone could at least make the pretence of _trying_ to keep me in the loop."

She flounces off, and Malia watches her go with confusion. "Uh--" she opens her mouth to ask Stiles, but he shakes his head emphatically before she can.

"Ask Allison," he says. "Just… why is it that everybody keeps thinking I'm gay?"

 

"Why are we meeting here?"

"I really don't see how this is important. We should be planning how to get into that bank and how to rescue Boyd."

"Has Erica…"

"She hasn't woken up yet. Her wounds were made by an alpha, and they're healing slowly."

"Stilinski! Lahey! What do you two think about these strategies for lacrosse next se--" Coach falters, and the impromptu pack meeting appears to grind to a halt. His gaze roves over them - Isaac, Allison, Scott, Stiles, Lydia, Malia, Derek - and he just sort of blinks, turning around, "I give up," he mutters, walking off.

Scott peers after him with concern, "Is he okay?"

"Probably wondering why half the girls have migrated to the boy’s locker room and why Derek here spends more time in this room that most of the boys on the lacrosse team do." Stiles pats Derek on the shoulders as if he's being helpful. Derek glares and Stiles retracts his hand with a curl of his lip. "Why is it that nobody even notices you around school?" Stiles asks, rhetorically, "Have you been picked up yet for stalking underage teenagers or what?"

"I don't spend my time stalking underage teenagers, Stiles," Derek says through gritted teeth.

"Actually," Lydia twirls a strand of her hair around her finger, "You kind of do. So does Peter. I think it must be a Hale thing." Stiles nods in agreement with her.

"Can we focus?" Scott tries to ground the meeting, "Boyd. Erica. The bank. I know you guys suck regarding communication, mostly because you don't like working together…"

"Don't like?" Derek snorts, "She--" he gestures at Lydia, "she resurrected my psychotic uncle. She also has a tendency to throw me into swimming pools while I’m paralyzed.”

“You’re welcome, by the way,” Lydia grins at him.

Derek rolls his eyes. “And this one almost shot me!" he points at Allison.

"At the time I thought you had murdered my mother," Allison shrugs one shoulder, "Now I know it wasn't you, well…" her grin isn't pleasant, but Scott thinks she looks beautiful all the same, "Why do you think I came back from France? We're going to find this alpha pack and we're going to make them regret ever coming to Beacon Hills."

"Beside," Stiles points out, "She stabbed me full of wolfsbane knives and left my crucified to a tree. Look at us now," he gestures between where there is less than ten inches between them, "We're practically besties."

Derek's face makes an interesting, if slightly constipated expression. It's becoming an almost familiar look.

"Exactly," Allison just rolls with Stiles' answer.

"It didn't seem that bad," Malia raises one hand like she's still in grade school, "And you seem on good terms, so why can't we work together to find Boyd? We've been sort of working together the past few months anyway… well, Isaac has…"

Said beta studies the ground with great focus.

"Nobody has died yet," Stiles says, "let's count that as a plus. So there might have been a little maiming, some mangling, but otherwise, we work. And we can do this."

"Just, maybe not now," Scott speaks up, "I have class."

"After school?" Isaac asks.

"Fine," Derek grinds out, "My place."

"Great. We'll be there. Now I have economics and Coach…" Scott glances around, but thankfully doesn't see the man anywhere, "Coach might skin us if--"

"Stiles!"

They all collectively pause. Scott's shoulders just sink because with all these interruptions he might just make it to lessons. Eventually.

"Daddy-o!" Stiles' voice is full of false cheer as he spins around, "Can I help?"

The Sheriff stands in the doorway to the locker room, gaze roving over everyone, "Coach said you guys were in here. Can I talk to you a moment?"

"Sure."

Scott's friend makes no inclination to move.

"Away from people with super hearing?"

"Oh. Okay."

 

"What do you mean nobody has seen her?"

His dad shrugs, "You were the last person to have seen her. Last night, at her party--"

"She went down to the basement. I… I didn't…" Stiles frowns, "I thought I heard a noise, but when I went downstairs there was nothing. Just a weird smell."

"Weird like good weird or bad weird."

"I don't know. I've never smelt anything like it," Stiles doesn't know what else to say, "I haven't seen Heather since. I thought maybe she went off with someone else."

His dad looks tired, running a hand through his hair much the way Stiles does when frustrated, "We've put out an A.P.B. but--"

"Do you want me to take a look?"

It's a genuine offer and his dad looks grateful for a moment, before shaking his head, "Nah - you have lessons. I don't want you skipping," here he gives a stern look as if he knows about yesterday. He probably does, Stiles has given up asking how by now, "Besides," the Sheriff shrugs, "you look like you're missing a scintillating lesson."

In the classroom Coach snaps something at Greenberg and  waves a mug around, "Risk or reward?" he bellows out, "Danny, you in?"

"What's the reward?"

"No pop quiz tomorrow."

"Coach, it's not a pop quiz if you tell us about it."

"Danny, you know, I really expect more from you at this point."

"Yeah," Stiles says, "Looks really… uh…" his dad is already half way down the corridor, and Stiles is about to head back to the lesson. Inside the classroom the coin being thrown flashes in the light.

The bank, he thinks, wondering for a second why that is so important before--

He turns down the corridor, jogging after his father, "Hey, dad!" Stiles calls, "You were involved in that bank robbery, right?"

"Please don't tell me you're planning on robbing a bank."

 

"Well?" Lydia asks Allison over a study period, "Are you going to Derek's?"

"Yeah--" Allison agrees, sounding distracted. Lydia leans on her one shoulder, then pulls away when she sees what Allison is browsing. Images of Beacon Hills First National Bank fill the screen. "You're going to go there alone, aren't you?"

"Unless--"

"I am not coming with you. If I go, I refuse to leave the car."

"No, not you," Allison shakes her head, pulling out her phone, "I think I might know someone else…"

Lydia sighs, sounding exasperated. Her gaze wonders and she lets her head drop onto her arm, eyeing something over Allison’s shoulder, "It's a shame," Lydia muses, "He's hot. Like, _really_ hot."

Allison looks up, following her gaze to where the twin alphas are by a bookshelf. "His face looks kind of like a squashed puppy," Allison wrinkles her nose, "If that is what you're into…"

"I think maybe it's the bad boy thing," Lydia sighs, as if admitting a terrible truth, "Jackson. That thing with Peter. Even when Stiles was assisting on a murder spree he was pretty hot."

"What." It's not even a question. Allison has started mimicking Derek's monotone statements - what has the world come to?

"Come on," Lydia rolls her eyes, "Don't tell me he's not who you're texting now."

Allison slides her phone out of sight.

Lydia's lips curl in just the hint of a smirk, "I'm going to save this disaster," she says, spotting Danny flirting with one of them. Maybe they remind the pair of Jackson, Allison thinks, considering had things been left unchecked, Lydia and Danny would have split a pair of identical twins between them. Given his ego, Jackson would probably be gratified to know it took two guys to replace him. "Whatever you do, Allison, don't get yourself hurt."

"It's okay," the huntress grins, "I know how to use a gun."

 

Derek's loft is in the warehouse district, a large building built over a parking garage.

"Derek doesn't have to worry about angry tenants," Isaac says as he leads Scott and Stiles up there, "He owns the whole building.” Malia trails a bit behind them, feeling nervous. It feels like she's invading, venturing out onto another wolf's territory except…

She's a coyote.

She's not even a wolf. She's a coyote. Like, what is even up with that?

She's never really considered the difference. Before she just was. A coyote, who was a girl, who preferred to live as an animal…

Malia knows the others don't understand it. That they can't even conceive why she sometimes sits at home in her empty room, the scent of her sister and mother all but faded and considers going back… Her dad barely knows her; she's the only coyote in a pack full of wolves…

"You okay?" Stiles turns around, as if sensing her distress.

She smiles up at him, "Fine," she says, and she's telling the truth. She's a human. Nobody can stay a coyote forever.

They head up the stairs, ignoring the lift that sits nearby, "I wouldn't trust anything Derek owns with my life," Stiles comments, dryly, even as Scott heaves the door open.

"I thought we should knock?" Malia queries. She doesn't understand human social conventions.

"Usually," Stiles says, "Yes, knock. But this is Derek."

Derek in question is sitting by a table. The loft is large and bare. A couch is shoved in one corner. A table is near a large window looking out over the city, and in one corner a spiral staircase leads upstairs somewhere. He slams his book closed and stands up, back straightening. Stiles ignores him, marching past and dumping his bag on the table, beginning to tug out large blueprints and data schematics of the building.

"What is that?" Derek peers over his shoulder.

"That?" Stiles unrolls a piece of paper that stubbornly tries to roll itself up again. Malia helpfully grabs a corner as Stiles points out something, fumbling for a pen," That is how they got in."

"How who got in?"

"The bank," Scott says, leaning over as Stiles begins to circle happily with red ink, "It was robbed a few months back. They shut it down afterwards."

Stiles peers up, nodding in agreement, "They got in through a rooftop air conditioning vent. It leads into the walls of the vault, through here. They dropped someone down, he spent twelve hours drilling through a solid brick wall and then siphoned the cash back up to his buddies on the roof. Boom," he throws the pen down, "If Malia and Isaac are right--"

"--which we are," Isaac said.

"--then that would be how we get to Boyd."

Derek moved over, "Can we get in there?" he asks.

"Barely," Stiles shrugs, "They also patched up the wall, so you'd have to drill through. Diamond bit…"

"Forget the drill. I can punch through it."

Stiles pauses, turning to blink at Derek, "Or we could do that," he says, as if he forgets sometimes that he is a super strong werewolf.

"That…" a new voice drifts into the conversation, "Is a terrible plan."

Stiles' face loses its smile, and Scott subtly moves. Not for the door, or for the new guy, but between Stiles and the new guy, standing on the stairs. Everyone is suddenly nervous; Malia can smell it in the air. Isaac grits his teeth and Derek sighs, his shoulders slumping visibly. The guy heading down the stairs is familiar although she's never met him properly, because following Stiles around while still trying to remember how to use her words doesn't count as meeting and--

"Why is he here?" Isaac hisses to Scott, then turns to Derek, "You know nobody trusts him, right?"

"Why not?" Malia never quite got that part of the story.

"He's a werewolf," Isaac shares, "He used to be an alpha, but he killed people, so we killed him, he has a serious fetish for his own cleavage, and was probably the one who started the whole 'werewolves were leather' thing."

Derek looks mildly uncomfortable in his leather jacket, "Just… trust me, okay?" Derek pleads. Isaac blinks, dubiously, "Trust… Scott?" Derek offers instead.

"I trust you," Isaac argues, weakly, "I still don't like him."

Stiles snorts, "Nobody likes him," there is the hint of a snarl in his voice.

On the stairs, Peter still stands looking mildly amused. Peter Hale. Derek's uncle. Stiles' old alpha. Peter the undead. His chest is puffed out slightly, as if to accentuate the V-neck shirt he is wearing, "You do know, that while coming back from the dead has left my abilities somewhat impaired, the hearing still works. So I hope you're comfortable saying whatever it is that you're feeling straight to my face."

Derek shrugs. "We don't like you."

"Can I kill him?" Stiles asks dryly. There is no hint of a joke in his voice and Malia shoots him a glance that tells him she promises to help him should he need it.

"Why do I get the impression that nobody likes me?"

"Because nobody _does_ like you."

"Seriously? I've been a model citizen these past few months. I never slash tires with my claws for fun anymore, and I haven't murdered any cashiers for being too slow when ringing me up…"

"Are you here to help or not?" Scott snaps.

Peter Hale smirks. It reminds Malia of the stories - of the big, cartoonish, clichéd wolf in the fairy-tales - Oh Grandma, how big your teeth are - "Why so hostile, Scott? Here I thought we were finally getting along."

Derek studiously ignores his - uncle? Malia isn't sure. Peter could be an older brother even; he only looks about ten years older than Derek. Maybe more, maybe a bit less, it's kind of hard to tell. He's old enough to be her father. "We know where they are," he says, "Malia and Isaac tracked the alphas to an abandoned bank."

"It got shut down from a robbery," Isaac inputs, "Nobody noticed us sneaking up to it until we were actually inside."

"Did you hear anything?" Peter asks, "Anything at all when you got Erica out?"

Malia exchanges a lost glance with Isaac. She remembers running and some more running and-- "They were talking about the full moon," Isaac recalls, "About being out of control. That was about when they were dragging Erica out and we… we had to do something. I'm just glad Malia was there, if I was alone…" he left it hanging, ominous and worried.

Scott worries at his lip with his teeth, "If Boyd is locked in there during a full moon… he doesn't have control, does he? He'll turn his claws on himself."

"That doesn't make sense," Stiles frowns, "It's been four moons already and he and Erica haven't ripped each other to shreds yet. And why wait? Why take them in the first place?"

"To get to me," Derek says.

"So what… they want to recruit you or something?"

"Or something," Derek exchanges a heavy glance with Peter.

The older man looks distinctively unimpressed.

"Seriously, Derek? I'm sure Boyd is a sweet kid, but he really worth all this?"

"Even if you don't care about Boyd…" a female voice drifts down the spiral stair case, "Then what about your sister?"

"Talia is dead," Peter scoffs, but Derek frowns up as everyone's attention turns to where a blonde girl Malia recognises as Erica is limping down the spiral staircase.

"Cora?" he frowns, "Cora is dead."

"No, she isn't. She's alive. For now."

 

"Who is Cora?"

Derek looks pained. It makes him look slightly constipated, Erica thinks as she settles on the bottom step. Isaac moves to hover over her shoulder, and she shoots him a grateful smile.

"Cora…" Peter begins stalking around the table like the predator he is, earning him a flash of blue eyes from Stiles. Was Stiles an actual wolf, Erica thinks, his hackles would be raised. "Cora's my neice. Derek and Laura's younger sister. About your age, actually," he stops next to Scott.

"Didn't she die in the fire?" Stiles steps around Scott, but ultimately fails when Scott moves to keep Peter and his former beta seperated. Stiles doesn't seem bothered, peering over Scott's shoulder. He's taller than Scott anyway, and still manages to meet Peter's gaze.

Peter turns to Derek, "The night of fire I don't remember very well," he says, acid in his voice, "Maybe Derek could fill us in."

"Or maybe," Derek says, tense for some reason Erica can't identify, "Maybe Cora can tell us herself. When we rescue her."

"If she's still alive," Stiles points out, helpful.

"She will be," Scott says, ever the positive one.

Erica makes her intentions clear, looking up towards her alpha, "I want to come," she says, leaving no room for argument.

Derek barely even considers her, "You can't come," he says, "You're still recovering."

"But Boyd and Cora…"

"You can't come!"

"Says who? You weren't the one who was trapped in that vault!"

Derek flinches. Scott turns to her, "Erica, we don't want you hurt. If there are alphas there, you'll just…"

"Get in the way?" Stiles offers up. He's blunt, he always it, but at least he's honest.

"You'll be more use here," Derek says, finding the right words to make her sigh, backing down with a nod. "I'm going," Derek decides, "Scott's coming…"

"Don't look at me!" Nearby Peter holds up his hands, "I'm not up to fighting speed yet, and honestly, Derek, with one alpha and a bunch of teenage betas, only two of them even in your pack, your odds aren't looking good."

"We can't let them all die. What about me?" Isaac frowns.

"Look, we can't all go," Scott says, "There won't be enough space for all of us and I don't want you all there with the alphas."

"And me?" Stiles asks.

"You can stay here."

"With _him_?" Stiles jabs his thumb in the direction of Peter, "Seriously? I don't think that's a good idea - do you remember what happened the last time I got left with him?"

"He's got a point," Erica says, glancing uncomfortably in the direction of where Peter is lurking, also looking mildly offended.

"Actually…" Stiles straightens, holding up his phone, "I have somewhere to be," he pauses, glancing around uncomfortably.

Erica fixes him with a glare, "I thought you were going to help us get Boyd out," her tone is accusatory.

"Look, if you want to play Catwoman, I'll be your Batman, but right now? I've got to help someone else," Stiles snaps back, quickly becoming defensive. Erica frowns, catching sight of the name on the message.

"Is that Allison's number?"

The phone vanishes into Stiles' pocket so quickly she can't confirm it, but Stiles' reaction does, "What? No… I don't know…" he gives up, "Yes, it's Allison. She has something she wants to look into regarding the alphas. I said I'd go along."

"Now?" Derek says.

"Why are you complaining?" Stiles growls.

Peter raises a hand, and then, ignoring his nephew's glare, offers his opinion, "Actually, that might be a good idea. If Stiles and Allison find the alphas, they might distract them enough to let us rescue Boyd."

"And Cora," Erica adds.

"Yes…" Peter and Derek both look like they don't know what to think about that. Neither does Erica - she thought all the Hale had died in the fire. Then she and Boyd get thrown in a bank vault only for another werewolf to join them a few weeks later with golden eyes and the name ‘Hale’.

"I'll ring," Stiles says, heading for the door. Erica watches him go. The door barely closes than Scott rounds on Peter.

He is stopped from speaking only when Peter holds up one hand, head cocked on one side. Erica listens, waiting for the jeep. "Okay," Peter says eventually as the car engine fades, "He shouldn't be able to hear you now."

"Shut up," Scott snaps, flushing with anger, "Stay away from him, okay? I don't want you in Stiles' head."

Peter laughs. "I barely got inside his head. I just released what was already there."

Erica thinks that's what Scott is so afraid of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let’s not talk about timelines. I have so many issues with them, let’s just not.
> 
> Meanwhile, manipulating the extra characters in addition to the large cast already around is really hard. Like, ridiculously so. I also have issues with spelling Erica as opposed to Erika, thank god for find and replace on word.


	5. Alliances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am on holiday and have no Wi-Fi so am unlikely to get another chapter posted until Saturday. Apologies.

"There are so many things I could be doing with my time that are more useful than this."

"You offered to come," Allison lowers her binoculars as a car rolls down the street, "You can stay in the car, if you want."

"Just leave me a weapon, okay? And preferably not a wooden bow."

Allison glances out the window again, "There are birds on the roof," she says, "I think they're nesting."

"In _August_?"

"Feeding? I don't know, but I think it means the alphas are gone. They know we know they're here - maybe they moved."

"You can tell all that from a pair of birds?"

"Or maybe it's nothing," Allison sighs, "I just don't know."

"Pareidolia," Lydia hums, "Seeing patterns that aren't there. It's a subset of apophenia."

"I love how clever you are," Stiles says, appearing by the car and opening the door. He slides into the back seat without a sound. His jeep which he had pulled up in seconds before, is parked across the street, "I didn't mean it like that!" he hisses, when Lydia shoots him a look. She doesn't appreciate Stiles flirting with her. Even if it is unintentional on his part.

"So…" she asks, glancing casually over her shoulder, "Did they even ask where we were?"

"Derek assumed you were still pissed off at him."

"Let it go on record that I don't like this idea. How you two even cooked it up..."

Allison grabs a duffel bag that chunks ominously, "Wolves fight too messily for my liking."

Lydia casts a disparaging glance at Stiles, who just grins, eyes flaring blue. She turns back to where Allison is sliding bullets into a gun, "Going in armed? Scott won't like this, you know."

"What Scott doesn't know," Allison says, "won't hurt him."

"And to think," Lydia hums, "It's only the second day of the term."

Stiles leans forwards, his head appearing between the seats and his voice eager, "Do I get a gun?"

Allison doesn't even look at him; she just passes a baseball bat over her shoulder from her duffel bag of weapons. Some people keep a spare torch in their car. Allison keeps weapons, "You get the bat, Stiles."

 

"I don't like waiting around like this," Erica complains to Isaac. "Do you think Boyd and Cora will be okay?"

The loft is dark. Peter is lounging on a couch, and Erica and Isaac linger by the table. Isaac can hear the heartbeat of a resting Braeden upstairs, but beyond that it is completely silent.

"I think the others will try as hard as they can," Malia says somewhere from beneath a pile of school text books. She's getting better at some subjects, Isaac knows. He's had to help her study, along with Lydia, Stiles, Allison and, well, actually, that's it. Scott's been too busy trying to improve his own grades than try to tutor a werecoyote who missed seven years of school.

"Is anybody going to tell me who she is?" Peter asks, looking mildly interested in the girl for a moment.

"She's Stiles' coyote." If anything Peter's interest perks up. It's unhealthy, Isaac thinks.

"She's not Stiles' anything."

"Actually, that's kind of accurate," Malia somehow speaks around three highlighters in her mouth, "Wait, no, that isn't right," she bends over her books again, scribbling something out with red ink.

"Doesn't she have a home?" Erica asks out of the side of her mouth to Isaac.

"I'm told it's awkward," he shrugs back, "Her dad's kind of a dick. Wanted to put her in a mental institute."

"That was also my fault," Malia pipes up, "I told him I was a coyote."

Isaac pulls a face. He can kind of sympathise, especially considering he kind of lives with Derek now. Has been living with Derek. For the past six months. He has Mrs McCall to thank for that, helping him to deal with his old house, selling it off, moving all the furniture out - Derek tried, he really did, but it was Mrs McCall who helped finalise his emancipation details.

He looks at Erica and wonders what her parents think. They probably still think she's dead. Run away: that had been the last story he heard circulating.

He wonders if she's ever going to tell them otherwise.

"Ugh," Erica shies away from the window, "The moon makes me itch."

"Really? It's not even full!" Isaac is reminded that Erica can't control it as well as him, but even then, the moon is still a day away from full.

She moans softly, her head in her hands. Peter squints with one eye while Malia's head appears from the pile of books, "It's giving me a headache," Erica murmurs, "Like it's pulsing…"

Peter is suddenly right there, in Isaac's face, "When was your last full moon?"

Erica squints at him, "What?"

"Your last full moon? Proper one, when you were outside…"

"Back in… March?" she looks like she's struggling to remember. Peter however seems desperate. There is an urgency as he turns to the table behind them, grabbing at the blueprints.

"What are the walls made out of?"

"Walls?"

"Of the bank?"

"They're in here," Malia points to a thick wad of paper, "About half-way through--"

Peter is already grabbing for it, leafing through it, "Hecatalite," he announces after a minute or two of frantic page turning and skim reading. He says it like it holds all the answers and like it makes sense when it really, really doesn't.

"Is that something I should know?" Malia looks alarmed.

"It scatters the moonlight," Peter says, glancing up at Erica, "The reason it hurts so much is because you haven't felt the full moon in months. It's like… like a drug addict going cold turkey and then relapsing and trying to wean them off it."

"So basically - really bad news?"

"Get Scott and Derek on the phone. And then we better find Derek's chains," Peter glances at Erica, "You're going to need them."

 

Scott's phone rings - loud and blaring and - dammit, why didn't he silence the thing? He answers, seeing Isaac's name, "What is it?" he hisses, "Now isn't the best time…" in front of them is the vault. Derek is clearing away rubble and dust and climbing through and--

"You need to get out," Isaac says, "The walls of the vault are made out of a mineral called hecatolite, which scatters moonlight. Cora and Boyd are going to be something called moon - was it moonstruck? Moondumb?"

There is the sound of footsteps and suddenly it is Peter's voice on the phone, "Boyd and Cora haven't felt the full moon in months," he says, "They're moon-starved. Like gladiators in the Roman colosseum."

"What is it with you and the metaphors?"

"They used to starve the lions for three days, making them more vicious, more out of control," Peter continues with the analogy just to spite Isaac, Scott is sure, but that's when the words finally begin to hit home and-- "Deucalion has kept them from shifting for four full moons, diminishing their tolerance to it. They'll be stronger--"

"More vicious!" Isaac adds.

"More savage, more bloodthirsty, they're the lions, Scott. They're the starved lions and you and Derek just stepped into the colosseum."

"Get out of there!" Isaac adds, "Are you even listening…?"

"Uh.…" Scott looks up, meeting Derek's gaze, "I don't think that's going to be a problem."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean the vault is empty," Scott says, looking around at the empty walls, the space with nothing in it, just the fading scent of wolves, "They aren't here."

 

"Why aren't we telling Scott?" Stiles asks Allison as they sneak through the creepy bank. It's already gathering dust, cracks are beginning to show in the building and, "Wow," Stiles says, "There is a really high number of creepy abandoned buildings in this town."

"I heard there was a mental hospital ten miles outside Beacon Hills," Allison whispers back, "Let's just be glad we aren't breaking into that place."

"You didn't answer my question," Stiles notes. He's always so observant, Allison thinks. "Why didn't you tell Scott you were doing this?"

"The same reason you didn't tell him. He's our friend, but he didn't tell us about Gerard." Allison's tone is grim and Stiles' gaze reflects her own stark realisation, "I need some space from him."

"Me too," Stiles is agreeing and Allison blinks at him, because it's not like Stiles and Scott have been dating, "Not like that," he sighs, "And things have been good. Like, better than ever since Peter…" he stops. It's still a sensitive subject. Even now, "We're finally working together," he says, "Let's not wreck that. Not yet."

Allison nods. Getting into the bank had been easy. Stiles had snapped the chains like they were made out of paper, and they had slipped inside. Now he keeps turning his head this way and that, nose wrinkling, "I don't think they're in here…" he says, "I can't…" he shakes his head, "The walls are made out of something - my senses keep bouncing around. Like echoes in a cave."

"Give me your phone."

"Why?"

"I don't have werewolf vision and my phone doesn't have a light."

She wields his phone like a flashlight. She used to own a flashlight, she recalls, but she had broken it trying to bludgeon a kanima. Jackson still hasn't bought her a new one.

They had entered through the large lobby area on the ground floor. There are two large staircases leading up and up and--

"If I was an alpha werewolf," Allison asks herself out loud, "Where would I hide prisoners?"

Stiles opens his mouth to reply when he stiffens, spinning around to something behind them. "Someone's here," he says, voice barely a whisper and he reaches out, grabbing at her arm, "Someone, I don't know who they…" he pauses, "Wolf."

Allison lurches to the side, jolting Stiles along with her as she reaches for a nearby door. There is a scramble as they slide inside, Stiles almost knocking over a shelf of cleaning supplies with an errant flail and Allison--

She drops the phone. It falls with a crack and both of them freeze, Allison's ears straining for sound--

There is a steady clip clip clipping of something, like heels, except less regular. Voices are speaking as well, and Allison blinks through the dark to see Stiles, inches from her. His eyes are amber, but there is just a spark of blue that in the dark makes them look almost purple. He looks nervous. Terrified. She can see him shaking slightly, nostrils flaring with scents she can't smell and--

Scents. They can still smell them. Allison inches backwards, unscrewing a bottle of ammonia and knocking it over. The thick scent of the cleaning fluid already permeates the cupboard, even to her human nose. Now it overwhelms them, and poor Stiles makes a choking noise, hand moving to cover his mouth.

"Sorry," she mouths, watching the puddle spread over to the door. The footsteps outside pause and--

"Don't kid yourself, Marin," someone purrs. British. Male. The tap of something - a stick, no, a cane, Allison realises. This is Deucalion. He is right here, right there… "This isn't the first time you've gotten your hands dirty…"

Stiles' hand closes around her arm, painfully tight and she forces herself not to move.

"They're kids. Are they really a threat?"

"They're kids at the moment. But you know the legends, Marin. You know what this place is. I just count us lucky to be here to watch a legend unfold."

The sounds are fading. They're leaving, and Allison slumps slightly. Stiles is frowning, mouthing the name, "Marin?" he asks, " _Marin_?"

"Rare name," Allison whispers, crouching down to scoop up Stiles' phone which, had it been working after the drop she will never know, because now it is coated in a thin layer of ammonia. The screen doesn't turn on, "I think I broke your phone," she admits, handing it back to Stiles guiltily. “Again. Why do I always break your phone…?”

Stiles isn’t listening. He's still mouthing the name, "Marin Morrell," he says, as if that explains everything, "Deaton's sister. Half-sister. She works at the school as a guidance councillor!"

"My _French_ teacher?"

"I don't know," he looks lost, reaching out to try the door. He wrinkles his nose, "Ugh," he says, "I can't smell anything anymore."

"Sorry," Allison steps out into the corridor, breathing in untainted air. Stiles stumbles out after her, and she turns around and--

"Allison? _Stiles_?"

She jumps. Stiles flails, yelping slightly although he'll deny it afterwards, spinning towards where they almost walked straight into Scott and Derek who are staring at them with puzzlement.

"What were you doing in the storage closet?" Scott gapes at them, "Wait, what are _you_ _doing_ here? Oh my god, you snuck over here without us and…" he pauses, "…why do you have a bat?"

Stiles blinks, holding out his bat and trying to nonchalantly swing it onto his shoulder but only succeeds in almost braining himself in the head, "I was sick of getting blood on my claws," he says.

“Hang on--“ Scott stares, “Is that my _mom’s_ bat?”

“Maybe?” Stiles shuffles nervously, “She gave it to me for my birthday. At least… I think she did, she wasn’t exactly clear but she said I might as well have it and since none of you either play baseball I thought--“

Derek steps around Scott, "I thought you were busy," he glances between the pair, interrupting Stiles.

"Yeah, we came over here. You two were taking too long," Allison shrugs.

Scott just sort of looks between the pair before deciding he is obviously better off not complaining or worrying about the two. They can look after themselves, after all.

"Did you find them?" Allison asks, finally noticing what is missing. It's just Derek and Scott. No Boyd, nobody else…

"They aren't here," Scott says, looking around wildly, "There is nothing here; I can smell them but…"

"They moved them," Derek says, through gritted teeth, "They knew we were coming and they moved them."

Allison feels frustration welling up inside her, and she spins around, wanting to punch something. She stops, her eyes alighting on Stiles who is examining something on the ground. She peers over his shoulder, "What is it?"

Stiles straightens, "Mountain ash," he says with a frown, "The wolves can't have used this…"

"Look at the claw marks," she crouches down, trailing her fingers over where marks that match her fingers are scarred into the ground, "Something ran past this way."

Stiles turns, angling his body to match the claw marks. His back is to the vault, his face to the open air, "I don't think they moved them," he says, "I think they let them out."

"You're telling me that two feral werewolves are running around Beacon Hills with tomorrow being the full moon?"

Stiles meets her gaze, and the same thought flashes through both their minds, "Lydia!"

 

They spill out onto the street, Scott hesitating for a moment while Stiles and Allison move like arrows to where Allison's Toyota is parked. Derek lifts his head to the sky, obviously scenting and Scott turns to look at him.

"I can barely trace it," Derek says through gritted teeth, "If they came this way they were moving fast and--"

A door slams. Allison steps back and Stiles looks up, face emotionless. "Lydia is gone," he says, as if Scott hadn't guessed.

"She's not answering her phone," Allison shakes her hair over her shoulders, "This isn't good…"

"Where did she go?" Scott asks.

"Maybe she saw the wolves, maybe the alphas spotted her…" Derek suggests.

"Maybe…" Stiles stops short, and he doesn't finish what he was going to say, "I'm going to drive around, see if I can pick up her scent. We can't leave her out here with two feral wolves on the prowl."

"You look for Lydia. We'll handle the others," Scott says, and Stiles blinks gratefully. "Go!" he says, and his friend turns away.

"I'll come with you," Allison says, moving after him, "Don't tell my dad!" Allison shouts over her shoulder before jogging after Stiles.

Derek blinks, looks angry. More than angry, there are levels of frustration, annoyance…  Scott’s run out of synonyms, but Derek looks like Scott feels. Like they were so close and they let them slip through their fingers. "So what now?" Scott asks.

"I don't know!" Derek snaps, shouting it out to the empty street, "I don't…"

"I do," Scott says, and idea forming in his head, "You're not going to like it."

Derek's expression grows disgruntled and Scott hasn't even said anything.

"Well?"

"Well? I'm going to tell her dad."

 

Lydia blinks. Slowly. Calmly. She moves forwards, one slow step at a time.

It feels like she's swimming. Like she's running in a dream, while in reality her legs are twisted and tangled in her sheets.

She comes back to herself in increments. Slowly. First her sight, blinking in the dim street lamp above her. It flicks on with a ping as she stands there. Around her the light is soft, late afternoon. It's gentle and definitely not what she remembers it being.

Then she feels her muscles. They ache, like she's just run a marathon. Her hands tremble when she holds them out in front of her and she shivers slightly because--

She doesn't know where she is. She casts her mind back, trying, desperately reaching for the memories…

She had been with Stiles and Allison she recalls. By the bank. The moon almost full in the sky above her and then--

Above her the moon is round, like a gleaming eye gazing down at her. It is round and full and Lydia's missed time. Almost a full day. She's lost time and she's terrified, because she remembers what happened the last time that occurred, she rubs at her hand, trying to rid herself of the blood and wolfsbane that clings to them and--

She recognised where she is. Looking around her, Lydia remembers coming here to cheer Jackson on during swimming practise when the school pool was closed. It's outdoors, and just to confirm she steps around the corner, spotting the moonlight reflecting on the still water, illuminating a dark shape lying there.

Oh god, Lydia thinks, moving forwards, "Oh my God," she takes another step, because she has to know. Her hands are clean, pale and spotless. There is no dirt or blood but there is a body and, "Please don't be dead," she whispers, "Please don't be dead, please don't be dead…" maybe if she says it enough times she can make it real, she can make the body she reaches for and turns over alive again or-- "Oh my god," she slumps back, because her prayers have been answered. It's not a dead body.

It's a mannequin. One of the ones lifeguards use for practise, "Are you kidding me?" she says to the moon, straightening, preparing to head back to find somebody to pick her up, she must have her phone…

She turns around and there is a man sitting in the lifeguard's chair. His form is slumped and blood pools on the ground around him.

There is no question about it - he is dead. Very, very dead.

Power surges through her like a tingle of lightning and a rush of wind. Her hands feel icy. In fact her whole body feels cold, like death, and before she really thinks about what she is doing, Lydia opens her mouth and screams.

 

It's been a day spent in constant worry. Looking back, how they managed school Stiles will never know, only that they had no trail of anything. No Lydia, no Boyd, no Cora, no Alpha Pack. And now the full moon…

The full moon is rising. It will reach its peak, its maximum point of fullness at around seven. That is just a couple of hours away still, but Stiles can feel it already.

"You sure you're going to be okay?"

Malia has her eyes closed and is breathing in huge, deep, calming breathes. "Is she Lamaze breathing?" Isaac asks with a squint, and Stiles glares at him.

"I'm fine," the coyote's eyes flicker open, "I'll be fine," she assures Stiles, "I just… I hate full moons."

"You sure Derek's okay with us using his loft?" Stiles asks Isaac.

The beta shrugs, "Not sure. He sort of… grunted. With a nod. I think it meant yes but you can never tell with Derek." The gold eyed wolf is attending to Erica, who looks like she's going through a killer migraine.

"Will you be okay?" Stiles feels the need to ask Isaac. Especially since the lacrosse season is over and they don't share the bench anymore, not that in reality either of them should be on the bench. They're both werewolves now - the peak of health and fitness and lacrosse skills.

"I'll be fine," Erica is the one to answer. It sounds like she's speaking through gritted teeth, "Just… go find Boyd," her eyes flicker open, and they're already glowing gold, "Please," she begs, "Find Boyd and Cora. Make sure they don't hurt anybody."

"Go," Isaac nods, "I'll look after them."

"Find Lydia!" Malia shouts after him, as Stiles heads for the stairs. He's not going to trust the lift in this loft, especially considering it's Derek's. The alpha has somehow managed to cram all his furniture into one room, and even then it's not exactly a hospitable space.

"Ready?" Allison asks as he slides into the passenger seat of her car.

Stiles sighs, shoulders rising and falling, "I don't know where to start. We've already driven around the whole town. Twice."

"Where are Derek and Scott?"

"They said they picked up a trail in the woods, but Lydia… she wouldn't go to the woods."

"She has before," Allison points out. What she doesn't say is 'when she was possessed by Peter' but it’s there anyway.

"We'll go to her house, try from there again. Otherwise we’ll drive past her lake house." It’s a good plan, and following Stiles’ suggestion Allison shifts the car into gear.

As she does so, Stiles pauses, senses loud and clear and picking everything up and…

"Wait--" he tells her, "Hang on, I… I hear her."

"What?" The car jolts and then stops, "Where? How?"

It's distance but it is definitely there. And it is definitely Lydia, "She's screaming. Drive, Allison, drive!"

 

This, Scott thinks while running as fast as he can through the woods, is not going to work.

Derek obviously appears to agree because he throws himself over a large tree trunk. Scott follows, somersaulting over it and landing, the ground sliding a little beneath his feet as he skids to a stop, then straightens, turning to Derek, "You lost them!" the alpha says, sounding irritated.

"I kind of had to," Scott defends himself, "Boyd was about to maul a pair of little kids."

Casting his gaze around, neither wolf can see any sign of their missing friends, "They're sticking together," Derek says, "I think we should still together too."

"Makes sense," Scott agrees, "They're strong and fast - too much for one person to handle alone. Now will you try my idea?"

"I don't like it," Derek says, making a humping noise, "and I don't think it's going to work."

"What's the harm in trying?" Scott asks, trying to sound positive.

Derek looks unimpressed, "Do you really want me to answer that?"

 

Allison's Toyota pulls up at the swimming pool car park in a screaming of brakes. Stiles is out of the car before it even stops, racing towards where he can how hear Lydia's heartbeat, hear her frantic breathing, the way her nails tap at her skin, her hair rustling--

"Stiles!" she jumps when he appears, and then relaxes moments later, "I never thought I'd be so happy to see you," she says, and for a moment Stiles feels a bit put out.

"Are you okay?" he asks, and that's when he picks up the smell.

Allison rounds the corner, only to almost walk straight into Stiles coming the other way. He shoves past her, gagging slightly and trying to smell something other than the blood, the death, the _blood_ \--

"I'll never know how he managed to murder people," Lydia says, numbly. Allison blinks, mouth opening slightly.

"Is that--?"

"A dead body?" Lydia answers, "Yes. How did you guys find me? I didn't even know where I was until ten minutes ago!"

"Stiles heard you screaming," Allison says.

"Like a lunatic," Lydia laughs, eyes rolling to the moon above her, "I… oh god, I don't remember what happened. I don't…"

"We were looking for you," Stiles cautiously moves back towards the girl, face still slightly scrunched up. "We left you in the car yesterday and then when we got back you were gone."

Lydia swallows, looking nervous. She looks like she knows what they're thinking, "Well here I am," she says, "And that's a dead body."

Allison pulls out her phone, "I'm calling the police," she says, stepping sideways as the call connects to speak to the operator. Stiles moves closer to Lydia.

She's pale and trembling slightly. He pulls off his hoodie, not really feeling the cold and offers it to her. She pulls a face, but quietly accepts it, wrapping it around herself, "I would have called 911," she says, somewhat diminished but her tone is still strong, "I just didn't have a phone."  
Stiles holds it up, "Uh, yeah, you left in Allison's car."

Lydia takes it back. Her hands are like ice to Stiles' wolf warm skin.

"You were going to call the police before you called us?" Stiles asks, trying to lighten the mood.

"You mean I'm supposed to call you first the next time I find a dead body?"

"Are you planning on a next time?" Stiles asks, rubbing at his arms, "Because this is beginning to feel like the frickin' shining over here. If two little twin girls come out of the woods and start asking me to play with them forever and ever, I'm not gonna be surprised."

"You have a morbid sense of humour," Lydia says, "And, I don't intend to find more bodies but this stuff… it just keeps happening with me." For a moment a sliver of worry breaks through her façade of calm, "What if it’s like with Peter?" she asks, looking Stiles in the eye, "You know what that's like, he was in your head as well."

And Stiles does. He really, really does to the point where even after Peter’s death he still wasn't capable of making sensible decisions. Not that death mattered to Lydia. Peter managed to roofie them all from the grave through Lydia and that’s really slightly terrifying. "I hated it when I found out you resurrected him," he admits, "But then I figured it kind of made us even."

Lydia's laugh is weak, "I didn't do it out of revenge," she says, "Even if it was that bite that… that started this whole thing."

"Maybe…" Stiles' brain whirls in a maelstrom of ideas and thoughts, "You're immune, that's what we decided in the end, wasn't it? That you were immune. But what if that's not the case. What if you're not a werewolf… because you're something else entirely?"

"Like?"

"I don't know yet," he says, "Can I-- can I borrow your phone? I need to call Scott."

"Where is he?"

"He's hunting down Cora and Boyd with Derek," Stiles answers, peering past her to the body, "I thought maybe this might be a wolf murder but it - it smells wrong."

"Still should let them know," Lydia shrugs, conceding her phone to him.

Stiles grins, already having typed in Scott's number. His friend picks up almost immediately, "Lydia? Oh my god, where are you?"

"What? No, not Lydia," Stiles blinks, "Stiles. I found Lydia, she says 'hi'," he holds out the phone to Lydia who just shoots him a look, "Uh, Scott, we've got a body over here, slashed up pretty bad with a lot of blood. Like…" Stiles pauses, trying to gauge how much of the scent is in the air, "At least two pints," he says, "Which in case you didn't know is a lot."

"You think it was Boyd or Cora?" Scott asks over the phone, "That's not-- They were across town in the woods just a few minutes ago! How did they get across town so fast?"

"Who else is going around town ripping throats out?"

"Can you get a little closer, make sure it was them? Get a scent or something?"

"All I can smell is blood!" he shouts down the phone, before rolling his eyes, "I'll… _fine_ …" Stiles pulls a face, and Lydia actually physically steps backwards when he even makes a gesture towards the body. With a sigh, Stiles steps forwards, trying not to scent the air too much.

The guy looks like a lifeguard. And there is definitely a lot of blood. It drips down his body, down his chest and arms, already dry on cold, dead fingers, a silver purity band around one of them. Around his throat there is a single, fine bruised red line.

Not three or four, finger-spaced claw marks. One fine mark like that of a knife or a single index finger.

Stiles cautiously scents the air. He almost throws up as the scent of blood hits him, but there is something more. Something deeper, earthier beneath that, like the air before a thunderstorm, the scent photocopiers give off…

Ozone, he thinks, it smells like ozone and lightning.

The same scent that was in Heather's basement after she went missing.

 

The Sheriff rubs at his forehead. He can already feel a headache coming on. It's been slowly progressing throughout the day, and it began ever since Stiles had sheepishly appeared before him this morning, shifting his weight from foot to foot with nerves and opening his mouth to explain how they lost two feral werewolves who were moon drunk and - oh, Lydia's gone on another bender, you know, like that one time she accidentally resurrected that psychotic alpha who I killed people with?

The girl is shaking. Tara wraps a blanket around her shoulder, speaking gently to her. There is no sign of her girlfriend - Emily - just some smudged footprints.

For a moment the Sheriff peers through the trees, wondering if Scott's still out there in the dark, or if he and Derek have already gone, racing after the two moon mad wolves.

At least, he thinks, they can explain away the sighting of two full shifted werewolves with the fact that the girl - Caitlin - was high on MDMA.

His phone rings. It's not his policy to answer personal calls while on shift, but the screen says ‘Allison’, and the last he'd heard, Allison had been looking for Lydia with Stiles.

"Allison?" he asks, answering it and pausing to wonder why he actually had Allison Argent's number programmed into his phone. Minutes later he's turning to Tara with a sigh, wondering if he still has those aspirin in his patrol car.

It's going to be a long night, the Sheriff thinks.

 

"It has to be the one with the eggs," Chris Argent sighs, leaning down to scoop up the brown paper bag and throw it in the trunk. It's not like it matters if any more break, they're probably already cracked.

He has his back to the parking lot and he's spent the whole summer in France, specifically not hunting, but the instincts aren't something he can just lose. A sound, a single footstep behind him creeping up in the dark and--

He whirls around, and he's really thankful it's McCall and not some harmless old lady he's about to give an early heart attack too. Scott looks startled, but doesn’t run. Doesn't flinch or look like he's about to put up a fight. Just stands there, smiling weakly, "Uh… hi?"

Chris feels like he really should have argued harder with Allison when she suggested coming back to Beacon Hills.

 

"First of all, why would I care about anyone related to Derek? And second, I don't know this kid Boyd. I don't even know his last name." Chris shakes his head, and Scott thinks that this was a bad idea. He wonders how pissed off Allison will be if he bribes her to ask her father for him. Argent can't say no to his own daughter, can he?

"Boyd _is_ his last name," Scott says. That's good, right? Humanize the werewolf for the werewolf hunter… with _guns_ \- why does he even carry a gun to go shopping? What is he expecting? The roast chickens to rise up in a zombie apocalypse?

The gun is still pointed at him. "What's his first name?" Chris is frowning.

"Vernon. And… just curious - is there a reason the gun is still pointed at me?"

"There's probably still some part of me that wants to shoot you."

Scott has to admit he appreciates the honesty, "We need your help," he lays it all out, "We want to catch them, stop them hurting anyone, but we don't want to have to resort to killing them!"

The hunter before him looks like he chokes just a little bit, "Scott, I'm a hunter. Kill things is what I do."

"Not anymore. Allison says you have a new code."

Chris narrows his eyes. Scott had just pulled out a low blow, but it hit. It definitely hit. "Where did you last see them?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This feels a bit like I'm rehashing the episode. Which I am, and I do use a transcript to check I don't miss any important information and so quite a lot of it works its way into the story. To be honest though, mostly it's just because I really enjoyed 3a and don't WANT to change a lot. Obviously stuff will change, but at least initially it is still very similar to the show.


	6. Incoming

The full moon rages in the sky like the burning ball of bright rock that it is. Isaac grits his teeth and tries to ignore it beaming down on him. He loves it at times, the strength and power the bite gave him, but being controlled by a lump of stone in the sky?

Not cool.

Erica is practically sobbing, curled up in a ball nearby. Her mood swings regularly and Isaac doesn't venture closer because she's likely to lash out and the chains are worn enough as it is. Malia's coping better, but that's just because Isaac is beginning to have a skewed sense of the word 'better'.

His phone rings. Malia's head jerks up, her eyes that terrifying neon blue that both Stiles and Peter have. It makes Isaac's hair stand on ends, because wolves, proper wolves, don't have blue eyes. Wolves, real wolves, have gold eyes, with a few varying into browns and greens. Blue is a colour introduced from inbreeding with dogs.

Blue shouldn't belong on a wolf, not a proper wolf, but somehow the three wolves Isaac knows with blue eyes are all the more vicious for it.

He grabs his phone, squinting at the number, "Uh, Allison?" he has no idea why Allison would be phoning him, it's not like they spoke a lot last year and while they do appear to be getting on more, their only tenuous connection is through Scott.

"No, this is Stiles," he sounds annoyed. Isaac probably would be too if he had to borrow Allison's phone, "Where are you, dude?"

"Derek's loft," Isaac answers, "Why?"

"Scott needs help wrangling Boyd and Cora - can you come down and lend a hand?"

"Help? Uh… just because your only issue with the full moon is super senses, doesn't mean everybody has super control! I'm with Erica and Ma-- Malia _no_! No biting!" He yanks his hand away from where the girl seems to be resorting to her more primal instincts. Isaac just hopes she doesn't go full coyote, if she even can. He remembers the terror she had been, Stiles dragging around this fur ball of vengeance. That's not even starting on how difficult it was to turn her back…

"I thought she was getting better at that," Stiles hums over the phone,.

"She'd be better if you were here," Isaac spits out. Malia appears to be able to hear Stiles' voice and whatever practise at control they have going from their previous full moons, she appears to be implementing it because while her eyes stay blue, her claws recede a bit and she looks a bit more sane.

"I'm not her baby sitter," Stiles snaps, "Where's Peter? Can't he help?"

"I'm not their baby-sitter either!" Isaac considers how desperate Stiles must be to ask for Peter's help, "And I don't know what happened to Peter, he ran off and I didn't ask - don't tell Derek but his uncle is creepy."

"I tell him all the time."

"Look, I don't know what I'm meant to be doing but - no, Malia, don't eat that!" Isaac snatches one of Malia's text books away from her.

"But I don't like math!" she whines, looking a bit more in control. Next to her Erica thrashes a bit, chains creaking and--

They're beginning to snap, Isaac realises, and he is so not cut out for this. Stiles is enquiring over the phone what is happening, the chains creak again--

A gun pumps and the girl - woman - with long dark hair and a bandage wrapped around her throat, levels a shotgun at Erica, "Don't worry," Braeden says; "It’s filled with salt. Harmless, but it will pack a hell of a punch."

"Salt?"

Braeden shoots him a look, "Don't even ask."

Isaac doesn't, and on the floor Malia blinks, looking slightly cowed. She's still chewing on the end of a highlighter, but for the most part her pulse is steady and when Isaac glances at her she nods, "Hey," Isaac asks the mercenary, "Do you mind watching Erica for a bit?"

"Sure. Just please tell me this place has a kitchen somewhere."

Isaac obediently points to a door where there is indeed a tiny kitchen, and then lifts his phone to his ear, "Stiles? You still there? I think Malia and I might be able to help you out after all."

 

"How are you tracking them?" Chris asks, and he pulls his car up at the woods. Scott and Derek are already there, and Isaac and Malia linger nervously, although the vehicle they came here in is nowhere to be seen.

Scott checks his phone, but there are no messages. He hopes that means the pair haven't run into trouble.

"By print," Scott answers Chris' question, "At least we’re trying to but it's not easy."

"It's not easy for somebody trained," Chris shrugs, "Even harder for people who aren't. Plus any prints here are long gone."

"Are you sure?" Isaac squints at the ground, "This large shape here could be Boyd and this smaller one…"

"-is your own," Chris shuts down any and all of their ideas like he’s slamming the door in their faces; "You…" he pauses at Malia, but continues seconds later, "You four are spending time and energy resisting the moon while these two have given in to it. That makes them more dangerous, stronger, faster, and more powerful than you who are all holding yourself back."

"So what do we do now?" Derek sounds impatient. Chris turns to the back of his car where there is a duffel bag similar to Allison's. "Please tell me you have some ideas."

Scott turns to Derek, "We'll catch them," he assures the alpha, "We've got real help now and…"

"What are we? Raw liver?" Isaac curls his lip, and then lets out a yelp that is echoed by every other supernatural being there, "What is that?"

Chris actually looks a little bit sheepish, "Sorry," he says, clicking the silver thing in his hand off, "This is an emitter. It emits high pitched frequencies that only wolves can hear."

"No kidding," Scott rubs at one ear, "What's that going to do?"

"Besides deafen us," Malia adds.

Argent pulls several of the silver emitters from his bag, "You wanted to catch them, right? Well with the help of these, that's what we're going to do."

Scott doesn't get it. How are the high pitched painful noise things going to help? But Derek seems to have worked it out, "Oh," he says, "You're going to corral them."

Scott's brain clicks into understanding, "We're going to trap them," he says.

"That's what I just said."

"No," he shakes his head, "Trap them. Lock them up. Drive them somewhere and keep them there - except there is one issue. Where?"

Isaac and Malia exchange a glance and then a shrug, "How about the basement?" the blonde asks, "It should be empty at this time of night."

"The basement?"

"The school."

Argent shrugs. Derek looks mildly hopeful as Chris chucks them each an emitter.

This could just work, Scott thinks. It could just work.

 

"I thought you told your dad you were taking me home," Lydia hums, "Instead we stop to drop off a werewolf and werecoyote in the middle of the woods and now we are…"

"Setting traps," Allison says, "We're making sure they don't get out of the woods - according to Derek it was hard enough getting them in here. We don't want them getting into the middle of town - imagine the havoc they could cause."

"I'm trying not to."

"And the reason we're not with Scott is--"

"Because my dad is there," Allison pulls a face, "And one of the conditions about us coming back to Beacon Hills was that we gave up hunting."

"So you're saying your dad doesn't know about Deucalion?" Stiles drops down from a bank, shaking his head like a wet dog, "I thought that was what you spent your time in France doing."

"It's what _I_ spent my time doing," Allison straightens, "Not that my dad knows that…"

Lydia rolls her eyes to the sky, "Oh great," she whispers, and Stiles hears her, huffing in amusement. "Where are we going now?" Lydia calls as Allison begins to head back to the road.

With a grin the hunter gestures at where Stiles has his hands pressed over his ears, "My dad's using the emitters to herd them."

"Emitters?"

"They're really, _really_ high pitched and _loud_ ," the blue-eyed werewolf says through gritted teeth, "Any of you lot have headphones?"

"That didn't answer my question!" Lydia shouts after Allison, "Where are we going now?"

Stiles moves forwards, hands still pressed over his ears, "The same place Boyd and Cora will be going. Away from the noise."

"Which is where?"

He laughs, "Where else? The school."

 

A howl. Feet pounding on the ground. A clink of metal against claw as two humans with wolf running through their veins throw themselves up and over the chain link fence that separates the football field from the rest of the school.

They pause, scenting the air. Their growls rip through the night and they start moving. Predators. Hunters. Monsters.

With a screech of brakes Chris swerves his large SUV in the way of their path. They skitter back, changing course. That's the plan, Isaac thinks. Herd them. Woods to school. Chris to Derek to Scott to basement.

It should be easy, right?

There is a howl and growl in the distance. Chris slams his car door closed but Isaac is already racing forwards, heading after them. He almost runs into Scott coming the other way.

"Where are they?" Scott asks with a frown, "I thought they were coming but then they changed direction. Did you…?"

"No," Isaac shakes his head, "What about Derek?"

In reply, Derek appears, looking visibly frustrated, "They missed the school," he says, "They went over the top. They missed it entirely.”

"No," Scott whispers, "No, they can't have…"

"They're gone," Malia skids up next to Chris, her eyes flashing blue. Her teeth are just a little bit fanged, but she appears to be in control. "I saw them race over towards the road but I couldn't catch up--"

"Show me," Derek moves over to her.

"I'll go with Chris," Scott says, "Isaac, can you circle around the school and check they're not still hanging around?"

He nods once and takes off. The earth falls away under his feet and Isaac never used to like running before the bite, but now he thinks it's freeing. It's easy, and he's almost looking forwards to the cross-country course this season.

There is a sound that sets him runner faster. Isaac's getting good at running away from things so it makes a difference to run towards the sound. He skids around the corner, spotting the buses and a dark shape standing on them. In the distance, he hears the snarls first before spotting Cora. Her face is twisted and wolfish, her fangs bared. A car flashes headlights and Isaac vaguely recognises Stiles' jeep. It's not Stiles in though, which means--

There is a whistling of wind and Cora lets out a snarl of pain. Footsteps echo as the person on the bus moves, launching another arrow that sinks into the female werewolf.

"Stop!" Isaac moves forwards, "Allison, stop!" He reaches Cora, the wolf no longer snarling. She's startlingly still, two arrows in her right shoulder. He leans over her, checking for a pulse.

The door to Stiles' jeep slams closed as Lydia climbs out, "It's okay!" she shouts. Allison leaps off the bus with a thump and Isaac wonders how she managed that without breaking her ankle.

"It's fine," Allison says, jogging up, "It's laced with a sedative - it should knock her out."

He relaxes, "Did you have to shoot her?"

Allison rolls her eyes, "Like I could get close enough to stab her with a needle," she says, "And my dad has the sniper rifle so I couldn't tranq her that way…" she pauses, "Is she okay?"

Beneath his fingers there is a pulse. Weak, and fluttering, but definitely there. He nods.

Allison looks relieved, and she offers him a small smile, holding her bow out as she steps around him, "I'll look for Boyd," she calls, "Take her somewhere, make sure she doesn't wolf out again."

Isaac wants to argue, but Cora is making small snarling noises in front of him. He doesn't want to risk losing her again, so he nods in agreement.

He just hopes that Erica is more under control than when he left her.

 

Scott's heart races in time to his blood pulsing in his ears and the moon beating in his head. But he's okay. He's under control.

For now.

He skids to a halt, casting his gaze around wildly but there is no visible sight of either feral wolf.

"I don't see them!" he tells Argent as the older man catches up to him, "They can't have gotten far…"

"Do you see that?" Chris squints at something. Scott follows his gaze, but it's not out and across to the distance where there is nothing but trees and shadows. Instead it is up and to the night sky where a light fades in and out of sight. Scott's eyes focus, lighting up gold as he observes the insect,

"The firefly?" he asks, voice tilting into a question. What's so special, after all, about a firefly?

"I know _that_ ," Chris sounds exasperated, "It's just…" he pauses, sounding puzzled. Like there is a conundrum being put in front of him and he can't solve it.

"What?" Scott casts another glance up at the firefly, drifting lazily above them. The two little kids had been catching fireflies, he remembers. He's never done it and he wonders why.

"Californian fireflies don't bio-luminesce," Chris says, and Scott blinks, his gaze turning back to the hunter, "It shouldn't be glowing," Argent adds.

And - oh - Scott thinks. Maybe that's why he and Stiles never ran out into the woods with glass jars as kids. "Do you think it means something?" he asks, finally realising where the older man is coming from, "Like the animals, the birds…"

He's cut off by a howl in the distance. Like a dog, Scott's head swivels towards the sound.

"That's Boyd!" he says, excitedly, "Let's go!"

He takes off running towards the front of the school, Chris Argent hot on his heels.

 

Allison gets Cora. Stiles? Stiles is left with Boyd. The larger werewolf barrels towards the town and without really thinking too much about it, Stiles tackles him, knocking him to the ground.

He had underestimated the larger wolf's size and strength. Boyd had a pack and he was under the influence of the moon. It leaves Stiles dazed and confused. Stiles barely manages to stand when something crashes into him; throwing him to the side.

Boyd sounds murderous. A growl wells up in his throat and Stiles blinks, pushing himself up to defend himself when--

Boyd pauses. His head tilts to one side as if listening and then he takes off, vanishing from Stiles' view.

Slumping back, Stiles allows his eyes to close. He can't do this on his own, he realises. Not this time. Allison and Isaac are around the corner with Cora. Scott and Chris are further off - Stiles counts all their heart beats: one, two, three, four, five. Six, seven: Malia and Derek. Eight, nine: Boyd and…

Stiles freezes, ice rushing through his veins. Lydia's the other side of the car park with Allison but then…

Who is that with Boyd?

Clawing himself upright, Stiles spins around, looking wildly for where the beta had gone. His heart beat echoes one two three four in Stiles' head and he moves forwards, trying to work out who the second heart beat belongs to.

She is standing by her car. Her keys are in hand and they chink slightly as she fumbles for the right one around the file of folders and bag she is carrying. Stiles can't even remember her name, he just vaguely recognises her as his new English teacher.  Scott likes her; apparently she'd been the only teacher to show concern over his grades rather than straight out disapproval.

Well if Stiles didn't do anything soon, then they'd have to get another new English teacher.

However mid-punch, Stiles recalls exactly why it is a bad idea to get into a fight with another, stronger wolf without backup. Boyd knocks him back as easily as he had the first time, fangs bared. Over by her car, the teacher looks up, taking in the sight with a gasp and a scream.

"Run!" someone shouts who definitely isn't Stiles. Derek hurtles across the car park, Malia in his footsteps. Stiles feels a modicum of relief, seconds before Boyd throws him aside like a rag doll. For a moment he flies threw the air, and seconds later he crashes down on a car bonnet, feeling the metal bend beneath him. He rolls off, feeling like something has broken.

"Stiles!" Malia changes course straight for him, leaving the alpha to head for his beta.

His beta who is still intent of ripping out the throat of their new English teacher whose name Stiles still can't remember.

The clash between the beta and alpha is violent. Maybe had Boyd been under control he would have backed off, but as it is, Derek is just an obstacle to get past. Boyd lashes out with a snarl, yellow gaze intent on getting past.

Stiles isn't sure how it happens. He can only pay so much attention to the fight in the distance along with Malia, the teacher who is in her own car, slamming the door shut and the other members of their pack around the school. There is a shattering of glass as one of the wolves crashes into the car window. Then there is a sharp crack and the sharp smell of blood and--

It goes eerily quiet. The teacher - Blake, Stiles chooses now of all times to remember - she's still in the car, shaking. The one window is smashed in, and Derek stands by the broken pieces, staring in horror at Boyd.

Stiles allows Malia to help him stand, his senses reaching out, counting heartbeats all the time in his head…

One two three four Isaac Cora Lydia Allison five six seven Scott Argent Malia eight nine ten Derek the teacher his own, pounding in his head…

Stiles knows even before he's finished counting.

There's a heartbeat missing.

 

Isaac doesn't get very far, carting around an unconscious werewolf. It's not like she's heavy - he's a werewolf too after all - but he's not exactly intending to carry her all the way to Derek's loft. He ditches her in the back of Stiles' jeep and Lydia shoots him a disgusted look, sliding out with a "Like I'm going to stay here and watch her."

Isaac would have stayed. He would have waited for her to wake up - she had, after all, been with Erica. She's also kind of hot. That helps.

In the distance the sun rises over the trees, and he turns to call over his shoulder to the girls, "Allison!" he shouts, "The sun's coming up!" He realises what that means seconds later as the shift begins to recede from the girl - Cora - in front of him.

That's when a howl fills the air, full of pain and sorrow and…

"Isaac! Isaac, come back! I'm not watching the werewolf! Isaac!" Lydia shouts after him, but he's already gone. He hears Allison reassuring her, but it's not reassuring when the huntress runs after him, heading around to the front of the school, towards the sign, the front steps…

He finds his steps slowing. Stiles and Malia are huddled together and Scott is trying to talk to their English teacher whose car sits with a broken window and--

Argent looms behind Derek, the alpha werewolf standing over a body, staring at his hands with complete and utter abject horror.

"Oh my god," Allison's hand comes up to cover her mouth, "oh my--"

"Boyd?" Isaac moves forwards in a daze, "Boyd? Derek, what…" he stops, metres away from his… he searches for a word. Friend? Not really? Pack mate? Yeah, that… that works. It doesn't sound like enough, not really, but Isaac can feel Derek's sorrow mirror his own in claw marks across his heart because Boyd…

Boyd is dead.

"I had no choice," Derek says. He won't meet Isaac's gaze, won't look up beyond his own hands stained red, "I… I didn't have a choice…"

Boyd lies so, so still. His neck is twisted at an angle too far to be normal, and there is the indent of claws in his throat. Wolves can heal but they… they can't heal from that.

"You killed him," Isaac whispers, horror-struck, "You killed…"

Derek just sits there numbly, as if he doesn't know what to say.

"It happened too quickly," Malia whispers from where she and Stiles crouch. The wolf has healing gashes across his chest and the coyote still has the indentations of her own claw marks in her palms, "Boyd lunged for Miss Blake. Derek threw him away and…"

"I'm sorry," Derek says, numbly.

Even Argent is looking like he's remorseful, like he regrets it when Isaac _knows_ …

He's seen what hunters do and they don't feel regret.

Derek stands slowly, as if feeling the weight of his deeds shoving him down into the earth. Scott steps forwards as if to help but Derek shrugs him off.

"Why couldn't you hold him down?" Isaac whispers, "The sun… just another half hour and…"

"You don't think I TRIED?" Derek snaps with a flare of anger and an aggressive step forwards, "You think I _wanted_ this?"

"Derek…" Isaac begins, but Derek doesn't even let him finish, he latches onto a nearby piece of broken glass and _throws_ …

Isaac ducks. His hands fly up to cover his head and it's instinct. It's all instinct, by now. He stiffens, not daring to look behind him…

"I…" Derek sounds muffled, like he's backing away, "I need to go…"

"Dude, that was--" Stiles stops, mid-sentence and moves towards Isaac, who glances over his shoulder, gaze fixed on Derek. Stiles pauses, as if he genuinely doesn't know what to say. Scott does though.

"Are you okay?"

Isaac doesn't know. His pack-mate… screw it, his friend is there, dead and Derek is leaving and kicking him out all at the same time and…

"No," he says, honestly, "No, I'm not fu--" he cuts himself off, "I'm going to… I'm going to check on Cora. And Erica. Yeah, I'm gonna… go…"

He turns around and walks away, because he can't take it. This is what the alpha pack wanted, he thinks.

Well they got it.

 

"And the hunter becomes the hunted," Peter appears from nowhere, whispering softly. "I can't believe a few high tech dog whistles actually worked."

"I didn't see you offering a hand," Lydia snaps at him, glaring with all the ferocity of a lioness. Peter actually steps back. Allison plays with her bow string.

"Personally I'm trying to cut down on futile endeavours," he sneers, glancing over at Cora, "I hear my niece is okay. I'm afraid the same can't be said for Boyd."

Lydia exchanges a heavy glance with Allison, "What do you want?" she asks, not interested in anything Peter has to say. Not really.

He just smiles, serenely, "You and I, we had a deal, Lydia. I just want to know when I can uphold my end of the bargain: I don't like to be in debt."

Lydia considers Peter for a moment. He's right. He still needs to tell her about her immunity and what it means. He needs to tell her what he knows.

But not now. Now Isaac is limping back around the corner followed by Stiles. Now Cora stirs in the backseat about to wake up to find out Boyd is dead.

Now isn't the time.

"I'll find you," Lydia tells him, "Where do you make your little wolf den?"

He blinks at her, "Wolf den?"

"Yeah," she curls her lip, "Big bad werewolf - where do you _live_?" Her tone is bordering on a sneer, but Lydia Martin is too perfect to ever sneer at someone. Instead it's a purr, powerful and dangerous. Not a housecat - a lioness.

Peter matches it with all the ferocity of a wolf. "In an underground network of caves hidden deep in the woods."

Then Stiles goes and ruins it, pausing by the driver's door, "Whoa," he blinks, " _Really_?"

"No, you _idiot:_ I have an apartment downtown," Peter scoffs, "There _is_ an old Hale vault hidden underneath the school, though."

Lydia misses the wry grin of Stiles', instead choosing to scoff, "Yeah, right," she says, turning and flaunting in a way none other than Lydia Martin can flaunt.

"I'll see you around."

"I hope not."

 

It's a fucking mess.

They leave Scott, Malia, Derek and Argent at the school. Stiles drops Isaac and Cora off at the loft. He drops Allison at home, and is about to do the same for Lydia who also somehow managed to fit into his jeep, when she reaches out a hand and stops him. "No," she says, "the hospital."

He doesn't really question it at this point. Least of all when Lydia shows him the voice mail later from Melissa, "You really need to get a new phone," Lydia comments, "She thought this was your new number or something."

"You sure you want to come?" Stiles says as they head towards the desk where Melissa is bending over a clipboard in the last hour or so of her night shift, "You don't want to get some sleep before school tomorrow?"

"Sleep is for losers," Lydia huffs, stalking straight past him over to where Melissa blinks at them.

"Oh, good, you're here." She pauses to blink at Lydia, "You both want to see?" she asks with a heavy sigh, "Well don't say I didn't warn you," she tells Lydia, "If either of you tell anyone I showed you this, I swear to God I will kill you painfully and slowly."

"Noted," Stiles drawls.

"I don't understand," Lydia slips behind Melissa into the morgue, "We've already seen the body. In fact - I found the body."

"So how did he die?" Scott's mother asks. Lydia wrinkles her nose and glances at Stiles.

"Bloodily," he says.

Melissa nods, as if that's the whole reason she's brought them here. She carefully draws back the white sheet, and gestures to the throat. Lydia leans closer and Stiles tries not to look.

"What is that?" he asks.

"Ligature mark," Lydia says before Melissa can, "He was strangled? But the blood…"

"Head wound," the nurse tilts the head.

"Is that brain matter?" Stiles feels queasy. The girls ignore him, "Well that's definitely not very werewolf-y," he adds, "You thinking serial killer?"

The nurse shakes her head, "He was hit hard enough in the head to kill him. Really hard. That's what caused the blood along with the throat wound.."

"Then why strangle him?" Lydia asks, "Why strangle him _and_ hit him in the head _and_ cut his throat. Surely one would have worked."

Melissa draws back the sheet, "Someone wanted this poor kid dead," she says sombrely, "And he wasn't the only one."

Stiles turns to where he's been trying not to look at the second body. Because he can smell her scent and he'd been hoping it had been in his head. But under the scent of death and blood and hospital is something familiar.

"The M.E. said this one wasn't just strangled. Whoever did it used a garrotte, which is a stick that you put through the rope, and you just kind of keep twisting, and… Stiles?" Lydia and Melissa are looking at him, and it's only then that Stiles realises he's crying.

He's going to kill the alpha pack, he thinks, if they did this.

But what kind of werewolf uses a garrotte?

"Heather," he says, throat thick, "Her name is Heather. She… I was at her party and…" he stops, something occurring to him. He glances at the other body, already covered up again and--

"Uh oh," Lydia says, "I know that look."

"Have there been any other bodies?" Stiles asks, and for some reason he glances at Lydia as if she would know. She meets his gaze and her expression is bleak, but confused. Melissa is shaking her head. "Anybody missing?" he pressed for information.

"Uh…" Melissa falters, "Two girls," she says, "One they brought in for a tox screen but the other, her girlfriend, Emily, just disappeared."

"In the woods?" Stiles confirms.

"What are you thinking?" Lydia asks, voice worried, "Stiles…"

He meets her gaze again, amber eyes meeting green, "I think I know what's happening."

 

He leaves Argent and Derek in the hospital. He doesn't want to stay any longer - he doesn't think he can bare it. Scott feels tiredness and exhaustion tugging at his limbs, and he tries not to think about the school work he has yet to do.

It's barely been a week and he already is beginning to drown with everything that is going on. He doesn't think he can keep this up, not if this… if this is the cost.

He spots his mom, and seconds later realises that Lydia and Stiles are with her. "I thought you went home?" he says to Lydia, but she's staring past him into one of the hospital rooms. Stiles is talking to a girl sitting in a hospital bed. Lydia makes a shushing motion and Scott pauses to listen because… the girl's voice is shaking. "They're gonna find her, right?" The worst is when she tags onto the end, " _Aren't_ they?" She seems diminished. Broken down and dumped in the hospital bed for doctors to fix.

"Her girlfriend is missing," Melissa whispers in his ear, looking slightly confused as Stiles slips back out, greeting Scott with a thin, humourless smile.

“You okay?” Stiles asks him, “How’s Derek?”

Scott pulls a face, “Not good. We took Boyd’s body to the morgue. Called his grandma…” he stops, falling silent.

"I thought werewolves could heal from worse," Stiles says to Scott, "Remember that time Peter clawed out Derek's insides and Derek still managed to crawl away and drive his car?" Melissa looks alarmed but Lydia just nods in agreement.

Scott shakes his head, "He wasn't that badly injured," he says, "And you didn't see Boyd…"

"Derek looked dead," Lydia reminds him. Scott winces.

Snapped neck, Scott recalls. Burn scars, sure, internal injuries, if you're strong, sure, but a snapped neck?

There's no coming back from that.

It is Lydia who turns to Stiles, raising one eyebrow and jerking her head back to the room behind her, "So what was that about" she asks, "Why were you asking about her girlfriend? How did you know that it was going to be her first time?"

"What?" Scott questions, but Lydia shushes him again.

Stiles bites his lip, "the guy had a purity ring," he explains, "and Heather… she asked me… her and I were going to…" Lydia's expression clears and so he stops talking, "All three of them, they were all virgins," he says, "They'll find Emily, but it… it will be the same."

"I thought this was a random killing?" Scott frowns, "Are you saying it was the same person?"

"But what does it mean?" Lydia asks, "Why do that? Is it a serial killer?"

"A serial killer going after virgins?" Stiles laughs, "No these… these are human sacrifices."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have too many characters. Solution? Kill some off.


	7. Dirge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm getting way too fond of my running gag of the girls turning up in the boy's locker room that I started way back when in s1.

"What do you mean _missing_?"

Stiles' voice rises almost embarrassingly as he stares at Scott. Three murders, then nothing. Nothing at all, in fact it had gotten to the point when Stiles thought he'd imagined it. He must have, after all. Three virgin sacrifices around the full moon and then…

But Scott stands in front of him, explaining how the guy with the cute little dog called Rocket had vanished after leaving the clinic last night. Kyle, Scott had said his name was. And his car is still in the parking lot and his dog was left running around…

"Was he a virgin?"

Scott blinks at the strange demand but Stiles has come out with weirder, "No, definitely not," he says, grinning, "Deaton makes me have sex with all his clients. It's a new policy." Stiles stares at him. Scott has the audacity to do this stupid little chuckle that just makes the blue-eyed wolf wonder why he even bothers to put up with this guy. "No," Scott emphasises, still looking too pleased at his own joke, "I don't know - how am I meant to know something like that?"

"Someone…" Stiles pauses to grab a shoe, "is going after virgins. I might be in danger, because, because do you know who is a virgin, Scott? Me! I'm a virgin! And you know what that means? It means my lack of sexual experience is now literally a threat to my life. Oh god. I need to have sex. Will you have sex with me, Scott?"

"No," Scott looks mildly disgusted, and then worried, as if refusing Stiles sex might just kill his best friend.

"What about Allison? She's friends with me - do you think she would have sex with me?"

Scott's glare answers that one.

"No - then, how about Lydia? How about…"

"Okay!" Danny slams his locker shut, "I'll do it!" Stiles jumps from the metallic bang right in his ear.

Scott's jaw drops open. Stiles blinks, then realises what Danny just says and he turns around to see their sort of friend, mostly still acquaintance grinning at him. "What?"

"Come to my place at 9:00. Plan to stay the night - I like to cuddle."

"That is so sweet," Stiles says, "You're kidding." He can hear the uptick in Danny's heartbeat, even if the breathless laugh Danny gives doesn't give it away.

" _Yes_ , I'm kidding."

"I'll do it!"

"Malia!" Stiles almost jumps out of his skin, "You can't just offer to have sex with somebody randomly! We talked about this, remember? Humans don't get pregnant until they're older!" he pauses, "How did you get in here anyway? This is the boys changing room!"

"Personally," Danny says as he walks past, "I don't know why you bother. I mean - Allison practically lived here last year with you two."

Stiles shakes his head, "It wasn't…" he glances at Malia, "We're not…" he gives up, moving over to where the Coach is shouting at them.

"I don't need you turning into a bunch of fat-asses in the off-season, which is why cross-country is compulsory for all lacrosse players." Coach pauses just as the Danny and Isaac tug off their shirts.

Stiles sighs, turning to Scott, "How long do you think it would take me to get a six pack?" Scott shoots him an 'are you kidding' look. "I'm serious. Why is this funny? I'm starting to feel like everyone in this town has more abs than me. Derek has, like, two six-packs. Who even needs that many abs?"

"Why are you even _counting_?"

"He ends up shirtless a lot when he's around me," he says indignantly, "It's just a thing that happens. Maybe he likes making me feel inadequate," he shrugs.

"I know fresh air is a stranger to you boys, but I want us out there yesterday! Come on, one two thr- _Tate_! _What_ are you doing in here?" Coach suddenly notices Malia standing innocently between Stiles and Scott. Malia opens her mouth to cheerfully answer but Coach cuts her off, "And _who_ are _you_?"

Stiles glances over his shoulder and for a moment, he thinks he's hallucinating. A girl with straight, russet brown hair is pushing through the locker room towards them. She pauses, gaze zeroing in on the twins and for a moment her eyes flash golden and she looks murderous. Then the next second Isaac is between them, guiding her over to Stiles and Scott and…

"Cora Hale," she tells the Coach. Scott's jaw drops open again as Cora grins with too many teeth. Like a wolf, Stiles thinks. It's kind of hot, he muses, chewing on the cord of his hoodie.

"She's Derek's sister," Scott whispers aggressively in his ear. Stiles blinks once and decides that no matter how hot she is, it’s probably safer for his continued existence if he ignores that fact. Regretfully he drags his attention to Coach.

"If it's not Argent, it's - actually, you know what, I don't want to know," Coach shakes his head, backing away.

"Good idea, Coach," Stiles says, but Finstock is already walking away from them, shaking his head in what is probably exasperation. "You know," Stiles muses, "We should just make this locker room our official meeting place already. Derek already likes hanging out here… well, here and at the swimming pool according to Lydia." He pauses, glancing at Cora, "So you're Cora, right?" The girl levels him a look that is almost identical to her brother's. Stiles nods, grin falling from his face. "Yep. That, that right there is a patented Hale glare. You're a Hale. By the way - your uncle is an asshole. Has he always been that way or is it a recent development?"

Cora's lip quirks slightly, "Peter's always been slightly creepy."

"I'm Scott," his best friend leans around Stiles, "This is Stiles, Malia…"

"I know who you are," Cora's voice is curt.

"Where's Derek?" Stiles asks, almost expecting her brother to appear from the woodwork. But he hasn't seen the alpha since...

Isaac pulls a face, looking like he doesn't care either. Both looks subdued, but there is determination and anger in their eyes. Boyd was their friend. Stiles on the other hand had barely known Boyd, but the other wolf was dead and…

He might not be the first, Stiles thinks. And what if next time it was Scott or someone else?

He's seen Erica back at school, walking around like she owns the place. It's nice to have her back, even if it is obvious that someone is missing.

"I don't care where Derek is," Cora shrugs, "Derek can do what he likes."

"So he doesn't know you're going to school here?" Isaac furrows his eyebrows.

"Wait.." Scott blinks, "You're going to school here?"

It's only then that Stiles realises that Cora isn't wearing the shorts and tank top just to emphasise her hotness - she's actually dressed for cross-country.

"Yes," Cora blinks, "Derek doesn't approve and that is as good a reason as any to come."

Stiles decides that while she might look just as attractive as all other Hales he knows, she also has the Hale temperament.

Well she's definitely a Hale.

 

"Are you okay?" Scott checks with Isaac. The beta is sombre, and as if that isn't enough Scott isn't sure where he is living. Hadn't Derek kicked him out of his loft?

"Erica and I are crashing at Derek's loft," Isaac shrugs, "She told her parents she was back and she… she couldn't answer their questions. She said it was easier to stay away."

Scott winces because _that_? That isn't how things should be done. He resolves if he ever has a pack of his own - unlikely, he thinks with a snort - then he should at least try and be a better leader than Derek or heaven forbid, Peter.

Nearby Malia hops from foot to foot with nerves, because school is a completely new thing for her. Scott wonders how much tutoring she must have gone through. Stiles is whispering reassurances to her when Scott notices his friend pause, head swivelling around. Scott turns, following his gaze and he feels his heart just sink…

The alpha twins are strolling forwards, smirks plastered onto their faces and Cora stiffens.

"No!" Isaac predicts her movements, lunging forwards to grab her by the shoulders.

"They were there," Cora can't control the moment her eyes flash gold, and she lets out a low growl. Isaac wraps one arm around her, pulling her back and Cora lets herself go with a hiss of frustration as the whistle blows as the twins take off running. They're taunting them, Scott knows it.

He shakes his head, "You can't go after them. Not by yourself."

"Then help!" Cora snaps, looking from Isaac to Scott, to Stiles, to Malia.

Malia shrugs, "I'm all for it," she raises her hand, as if voting. Scott frowns, glancing at Stiles.

His friend, however, shakes his head, "I'm with Cora on this one. But Scott has a point - you can't go off on your own against these guys. Those two - according to Braeden they _fuse together_ to form one giant voltron wolf. We don't know what we're dealing with here."

Somehow his best friend's roundabout argument works and Cora stands down. Her glare that she sends towards the twins still looks like she's planning how to murder them, but at least she's not actively trying.

Yet. Scott glances around, noting that out of the five of them, there were three votes to do something violent.

He can already feel a headache coming on, and he makes a note to recruit help to keep an eye on some of his friends.

"Get moving!" Coach shouts, and with a sigh Scott begins to move forwards in a jog. It's easy, running. Especially now he no longer has his asthma. In that regard he is almost grateful to the bite. He had hated it at first, but now - he's come to accept it. He hadn't asked for it, but he’s come to accept what he was.

He wasn’t a monster. He was a werewolf.

And looking around at Stiles and Malia, he realised he had a pack. He had his friends.

Now if only they could deal with the alphas…

Speaking of alphas…

One of the twins appears from nowhere, tackling Scott. They tumble sideways, rolling in a tangle of limbs down the leaf strewn hill. He hears someone cry out in alarm and a snarl. Scrambling up it is to see both twins striding forwards. "Deucalion wants to talk to you," one of them says.

"What? To a pitiful omega like this? You've got to be kidding, Ethan," the one on the left sneers. "Can't we just kill him?"

"He's not in Derek's pack," the more reasonable twin says.

"Hmmm," the first twin considers Scott, laughing as Scott lets his eyes flash gold, "Ethan, I always forget how many bones are in the human body."

"Biology isn't until next lesson."

"I guess I'll have to find out before then," the alpha wolf lets his eyes burn crimson, taking a step forwards, "Let's count, shall we?"

Scott prepared himself to fight, snarling and letting his claws extend when--

Something crashes into the alpha, punching him cleanly across the face, "Well," Cora says, growling low in her throat, "I count one."

Ethan steps backwards, not looking at all daunted as Isaac and Malia skid into view. Three gold eyed betas and one blue eyed coyote outmatch the two alphas, but Aiden just straightens undaunted, clutching his nose. "Well this is more interesting," he laughs, just as Stiles skids in, seconds too late, ignoring the alphas entirely. There is a faint scent of panic and his heart is racing--

"Scott, there's another body."

"What?"

The alphas look nervous. Scott doesn't miss that. They glance between each other as if they had no clue…

The murders aren't werewolf related, he thinks. The alpha pack? They have nothing to do with them.

"Who?" Scott asks.

Stiles doesn't say anything. He doesn't have to.

"It's him, isn't it?" Isaac asks, stepping away from the alpha twins. Cora and Malia turn to Stiles and he gestures across to the next hill over where the body assumedly is.

Scott sighs, because it is never going to be easy, is it?

This is his life now.

 

"Get back! Get BACK!" Tara, Stiles' dad's deputy gestures for the students to move back. Scott is staring at the body and Malia blinks at it almost considering.

"He's been dead a few hours," she says, voice detached, "Hey, Stiles, last time with the virgins were they all killed the same day?"

"Within twenty-four hours," Stiles glances at her, impressed she'd spotted that.

"Stiles…" his dad pushes through the crowd of students, expression falling as he spotted the body tied to the tree. "Oh god…" he turns away, "Do you know…?"

The Sheriff is witness to Stiles and Scott shaking their heads in perfect sync.

"And why did you phone me with Scott's phone?" the Sheriff frowns.

Stiles pauses, sheepishly, "I… uh… may have broken my phone? Actually, Allison broke it. Again… I didn't want to tell you because you were annoyed last time and…"

The Sheriff's expression actually clears, "So that's why Melissa said you had a new number that routed itself to Lydia's phone. Huh. Here I thought you were dating her. You're going to need a new phone."

"He can borrow Isaac's," Scott volunteers the gold-eyed beta who stands behind him.

"What? No, I'm not going to give him my phone, dude," Isaac protests.

"He can have mine," Malia offers, which, Stiles thinks, is actually fair because despite her love of her phone, Malia still doesn't know how to use it.

"Are these…" the Sheriff looks like he doesn't want to say the word 'sacrifice'.

Stiles blinks, "Seriously? My eyes turn into blue glow sticks, Derek can literally make his eyebrows disappear, and Scott grows these wicked sideburns but you're not sure about human sacrifices?"

His dad pulls a face.

"I still think it was them," Cora steps forwards, glaring at the twins in the distance.

"But…" Isaac pauses, "Actually, no, they're evil, let's blame them."

"Them?" John turns, craning his head and blinking, "You're telling me the twins with the squashed faces are werewolves as well?"

"Alpha wolves," Stiles emphasises, "And how does that even work, did they kill an alpha each or is it twin mind meld?"

John closes his eyes, looking exhausted. Scott shakes his head, "But they don't look like they know what happened. I agree with Stiles - I think this is something else."

"What?" Cora sneers, "The murders aren't werewolf-y enough for you?"

"No, they lack a certain amount of werewolfitude," Stiles spits back, and for a moment he and Cora glare at each other. They're interrupted by Stiles' dad who gives Stiles a gentle shove on the shoulder.

"Go back to school," he says, "I'll clear up here and I'll talk to you about it later? Okay? Go find yourself a new phone. Or an old phone, I might have an old Nokia in my cupboard."

"Okay, daddy-o," Stiles agrees with a smile. Scott casts him a glance as his dad turns away.

"You've got that look on your face like you're about to do something stupid," he says, "What now?"

"Oh, is that what that look is?" Cora snarks, "It seems to be his permanent expression."

Stiles ignores her, gazing over to where Ashley is sobbing. He's glad he's a werewolf suddenly, he thinks. At least he will heal quickly, "It probably is stupid," he tells Scott, "But do you think his girlfriend knows if Kyle was a virgin?"

 

Lunch time detention, Allison thinks, sucks.

She considers the multiple ways she could figure out what was up with Ms Morrell, the easiest by far asking Lydia if she's still visiting the guidance councillor on a regular basis.

Well, she _would_ ask Lydia except, y'know, she had gotten herself lunch-time detention for sleeping in class.

And surprisingly, she's not the only one.

Cora Hale glares at everything like it’s her enemy. Allison didn't even need the other girl to introduce herself before she recognises her from the other night.

Trouble is; Cora recognises her too. With a sneer she turns around, stacking up a pile of blank paper in the supply closet, before heading back in the direction of the basement for more supplies. Allison closes her eyes and just wishes she had the job of re-shelving the library or something because this? This is not a good idea. She considers asking their teacher to switch jobs, but when she pokes her head back into the classroom, the guy who had been overseeing their detention is gone. Allison didn't even know his name - he'd been a replacement teacher for Adrian Harris to teach Chemistry and Physics. He wasn't a bad teacher, but he had a droning voice that tended to make her fall asleep in class and with the late nights she had been running, that didn't help.

With a sigh Allison turns around, and almost walks straight into Cora Hale who moves far quieter than anyone has the right to. "Sorry," she says, fumbling for a better grip on her box of stationary.

"Just watch it, okay?" Cora radiates hostility as she practically stalks into the stationary cupboard.

"What is your issue with me?" Allison asks, because as far as she knows she hasn't done anything to make the other girl hate her with such a vengeance…

"Oh, I don't know, maybe because your aunt burnt my family alive?"

Allison's stomach plunges out beneath her and she chokes, feeling like she's been physically punched, "That wasn't me," she says, "You're judging me for something I didn't even do?"

The werewolf whirls around, "Your family did, though," she snaps, "You Argents - hunters - you're all the same."

"Well Kate's dead," Allison snaps, "So is my mom. So is my grandfather."

"Good riddance," Cora snaps.

"Peter's not," Allison knows where to hit, metaphorically speaking, "My aunt might have been responsible for the Hale House fire years ago, but it was your own uncle who killed Laura. So you don't get to talk about aunts and uncles. No offense… actually, wait, yeah, every offense meant."

Cora falters, and Allison gets to watch the moment all the fight just goes out of her, leaving the girl in front of her tired and looking far younger than seventeen. She gazes at Allison critically for a moment, as if seeing her for the first time, "Okay," she says. Her voice is still sharp, but the anger is gone, "Cora Hale," she holds out a hand.

Allison takes it, "Allison Argent. Nice to meet you."

They fall into a companionable sort of silence for several minutes. Then Cora speaks up, voice hesitant, "Peter really… he really did all that, then?"

"By 'all that' you mean, he bit Scott and Stiles and started killing people involved in the fire?" Allison asks, curious as to how Cora views all that. She can get with the revenge thing - sure, it was violent and unnecessary, but she understands.

"Good," Cora says, sharply, "They got what was coming to them… but Laura…" she shakes her head, "He was mad."

"He still is. I think. I mean, it's not like I spend a lot of time with your sociopath of an uncle, but he's not trying to kill anyone anymore so I guess that's a bonus. But the moment he steps out of line, Stiles calls dibs to be the one to murder him."

"I'll help," Cora says instantly.

Allison grins, "Get in line. So… how did you get detention anyway?"

"I socked one of the alpha twins in the jaw," Cora looks completely unashamed, "Twice, actually, the only problem is the second time I got caught."

Allison is impressed, despite herself. She thinks she might just be able to get used to the other girl if she hangs around, and that's when the door to the storage room slams open.

She whirls around, instantly on guard expecting… she doesn't know what she's expecting but it certainly isn't Scott there, wide-eyed and breathing heavily. "Oh thank god," he says upon seeing them, "I thought…" he pauses, "the twins aren't here?"

"No?" Allison frowns, "Why?"

"I was keeping an eye on them and they… they've been trying to get us pissed off at them the whole day, and I thought with you two in detention…"

"No?" Cora glances at Allison, "Although they may have wanted me to murder the hunter, but we… we made a truce."

Scott's eyebrows rise, as if he hadn't even known they needed a truce.

"Hang on," Allison pauses, looking around, "If we're here… then… where's Isaac?"

 

Lydia flicks through her books, checking her timetable. She's already ahead in all of her classes, so she plans the work she needs to get done for tomorrow. She might make a start on that project as well while she's at it, she's enjoying all the free time she has now Jackson isn't hanging around making her watch lacrosse videos. Smirking and feeling surprisingly content, she straightens, about to head to class and almost walking into--

Her good mood sours instantly, "Aiden," she greets the boy leaning again the locker in front of her.

"Hey, Lydia," Aiden grins charmingly at her, "So I was wondering if you were free tonight…"

"Studying," Lydia shuts him down before he can say anything, wondering if she can get away with stepping around him.

"I could help--"

"Do you have an IQ of over 170? A 5.0 GPA?"

"You could help me--"

"Hmmm," she pretends to consider it, "How about 'no'?"

"What time?"

Behind Lydia, Stiles slams his locker closed and turns to lean on it with one shoulder, narrowing his gaze at Aiden, "What part of 'no' don't you understand?" he asks with a sneer, eyes flashing blue. Lydia rolls her shoulders, turning her head to shoot him a sharp glare at him. Stiles relaxes, but only slightly.

Aiden adjusts his stance. It's slight. Barely perceptible but Lydia and Stiles both notice, "You think I'm scared of an omega like you?" he sneers.

"No, but I think you're scared of the murders that are happening," Stiles says, confidently, "Something else came to town after you. Something dangerous. Something that is killing those people. And how long do you think before there is a chance it might come after you?"

Aiden snarls, hand smashing into the locker as he shoves himself away, stalking off down the corridor.

"I didn't need the rescue," Lydia hums, spinning around and beginning to head to her next class. Stiles follows after her as if he has nowhere better to be.

"Looked like you did," the wolf shrugs, "Besides, he interrupted our conversation."

"Yes," Lydia smiles, thinly, "You were saying something about sacrifices."

"Why is everyone so dismissive of the idea? People do it. It's actually a thing. You know there's a temple in Calcutta where they used to sacrifice a child every day? That's every day a dead baby, Lydia, every day! Hey, you want to know what today is? It's dead baby day. Oh, no, wait, that's every day, because every day is dead baby day, yay!"

Lydia stops to stare at him a moment, then continues walking, "You have way too much free time."

"That's not all," Stiles stumbles after her, "I was thinking that the murders maybe come in threes. Ancient people love things in threes, right? Hence the gap between them. Three virgins on a full moon. Three… I don't know, people who own little dogs, a few days later. Crescent moon."

Lydia pulls a face, "I own a little dog." Stiles' expression falters, and she raises a hand before he can say anything, "I am not getting rid of my little dog."

"Would you consider it?"

"No. And by the way, you cannot discern a pattern from a single data point, so stop trying." She pulls out a notebook, beginning to sketch as she idly waits for her class to start. Stiles isn't even meant to be in her class, she thinks, trying to recall what class he actual had. She thought it might be English but that wouldn't make sense, because she was in the same English class as him.

"But if we figure out the pattern, we can stop these murders."

"Or you could sit back and let your dad do his job."

"My dad has no idea what he's dealing with," Stiles says, indignantly, "Well, he does, but he needs help."

"You mean you."

"Yes, I mean me! I can't just sit around and watch people wither and die in front of me."

"Wither?"

"Wither. Die. Choke to death on a garrotte. Die from their skull being caves in, die when their throat is cut. It's hideous, it's awful, and it’s somebody murdering people in our town, Lydia. _Our town_. I don't… I don't like not knowing who is doing the murdering, okay?"

She sighs, "Okay. I'll help you try to figure it out." She was going to anyway. She could back out, she thinks, move out of town like Jackson, or isolate herself like Stiles had last year, but in the end she knew she'd come back to it all. Even if she didn't end up finding another body, she still knew that she had committed herself to this from the moment she had confronted Derek Hale six months ago and said 'you're a werewolf'.

Then of course he had to go and faint on her and well… here she is: sitting in a classroom, waiting for class to start with Stiles talking about serial killers right next to her.

"I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation," Danny leans over, "And it's really depressing, guys."

"Hey, Danny," Stiles grins, and Danny looks mildly confused, but grins weakly over Lydia's shoulder.

"Nice tree," he says to Lydia, "You should be in art class. You know… since you're not in music."

That's when Lydia looks up, realising where she it.

"Stiles, did you just follow Lydia in? I thought you two weren't dating."

"We're not. We're friends, like you and Jackson were friends."

"Until he ditched me for London."

"And I could totally take music," Stiles bluff, "I play, like, the drums."

Lydia is still however. "Stiles," she says, as Danny and the rest of the class begin to pack up, something about a fifteen minute rule, "It's like before."

He immediately focussed on her, "Before?" he asks.

She nods, slowly, "Like that night at the bank. I start… do something, intending one thing and then… something else…" she stands up, "There's something here. Something important."

"How do you know?" Stiles scrambles up. His head tilts like he's listening, turning around to see… "I don't see anything…"

"I JUST KNOW!" she shouts. Her voice borders on hysterical, "Please," she says, "There must be something…" Lydia finds herself inexplicably drawn to the piano and she stops, just in front of it. Pressing a key it vibrates, the string inside humming. Perfectly in tune she thinks, walking her fingers across to the white key to the left and then down to the flat.

There is a phone sitting on the piano. She picks it up, turning it on and looking at the recording there.

"Lydia?" Stiles asks behind her. His voice wavers, but Lydia presses play. She doesn't know what she's going to hear. Melodic notes sound out, and she drags the recording towards the end of the time.

The playing continues, notes rising and falling and then--

Stiles winces as the notes slip into the minor key, too flat, too out of tune and then stop altogether, something beneath it rising up and--

"What…" Stiles asks, "Is that?"

"Chanting," Lydia whispers, "I can't hear what they're saying but it… it's chanting. Over and over and…" the recording stops, leaving Lydia trembling and Stiles staring at her.

"The music teacher didn't show up," he says, almost unnecessarily, "Do you think he's missing?"

"Not missing," Lydia whispers, picking up a picture from the desk behind her. It's the music teacher in military uniform, his wife wearing a wedding dress next to him. They smile at the camera, and she fixes her gaze on the teacher. "He's gone," she says, way too calm, "Taken. Kidnapped. I don't… where? Why?"

"I don't know," Stiles says, looking grimly at her, "But I think I might know someone who does."


	8. Destroyer

One minute Isaac's fine. It is day, he can breathe, he's worrying about the alpha twins and Derek and Erica and then--

Then he is in darkness. He's choking, the space sudden and closing in on him, pressing in around him and he pounds out with a fist. He's trapped in that freezer, it slams closed on him and he's going to die, trapped in here--

Some part of his brain, some more reasonable part is telling him that it's not real. He can't really be back in that freezer, he doesn't live in that house, Derek helped him sell it, he should be fine but--

He's surrounding by walls and sharp, piercing scents that fog up his head, fog up his vision until all he can see is the lid of the freezer, his own nail marks clawed into the lid above him.

Once he would have curled up, closed his eyes and tried to forget about it. Once maybe, but now?

With a growl his eyes flare gold. Isaac can feel it running through him like an electric current and he snarls, lashing out. There is a shattering sound, but he barely notices, clawing forwards at that which keeps him trapped, this is why he got the bite, dammit, he wanted to have the power to avoid it and--

And the door caves open beneath his claws. He lashes out. The twins, he thinks, it must have been the twins who locked him up. His claws ark through the air and someone cries out.

"Isaac! Stop! Isaac! Isaac! ISAAC!"

There are bodies and they're too close, too many too close and he growls and--

"Isaac!" somebody shouts, but the blonde barely hears him through the panic, the noise, the static the--

 _"No son of mine,"_ a voice sneers in his head, and usually it calms, but the anger in it flares up and he--

"ISAAC!" someone growls, hands pinning his down, holding him down, and he quails, blinking up into eyes that look purple. Why do they look purple? Isaac wonders. Maybe it's that sliver of red in them, he thinks, blinking up at Scott as his senses come rushing back to him. Scott - it's Scott staring down - and his eyes are--

Gold, Isaac realises. They're the same gold they always have been except he could have sworn--

He must have been imagining it.

"Are you okay?" Cora asks, voice high pitched, "They didn't hurt  you, did they?"

Isaac's breathing quickly, trying to bring himself under control. He's not in the freezer, he thinks in a daze. He's not, he was… in the chemistry closet, apparently. He closes his eyes, then opens them again, trying to ignore the way his hands shake, "I'm not a fan of small spaces," he gasps out, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…" he shakes his head, trying to get himself centred. He's better than this, dammit.

"It's okay," Allison shrugs and smiles almost sympathetically. Not that she knows what he was going through; not that she has _any clue_ …

But she's there, trying to reassure him and Scott gazes at him with genuine concern and Isaac… Isaac lets them. Cora helps him up, and he takes her hand, her skin warm to the touch.

She pats him down, pulling a piece of glass out of his hand. He hadn't even noticed. "I think you may have destroyed some bottles of…" she sniffs, "Zinc oxide," she says, "I think--” she turns to Scott, "--we need to do something," Cora growls. It's not a question.

"Wait," Scott reaches out, calming before she can do anything rash, "You're right, we need to do something. But not like that. We can't act like them."

"Then what do we do?" the Hale throws up her arms in frustration, looking angry at Scott, at Isaac, at the whole world.

Allison frowns, and Isaac notices. Her grin is mischievous as she meets his gaze, then turns to Scott and Cora, "I think I have an idea."

 

The dogs start barking the moment Stiles and Lydia enter the clinic. Lydia shoots him a glance like it's his entire fault.

"Well?" Lydia huffs, "Aren't you going in?"

"I physically can't," Stiles hisses and it's true, he physically cannot pass over the barrier in front of him, "He has a mountain ash barrier and let's face it, if I wasn't a werewolf I would have one as well what with the alpha pack in town. In fact, I might make my dad get one anyway. I'll stay with Scott or something. In the meantime Melissa can move in with dad."

"It's wood," Lydia frowns, "Why is it your eyes glow blue, you grow claws and fangs but you can't cross a piece of wood?"

"Wait, you didn't mention the eyebrows. Don't I lose my eyebrows?"

"No," she hums, "You usually keep them. Your sideburns get a bit furrier, but you don't gain a whole extra eyebrow muscle."

Stiles feels a rush of relief because he's always thought about how stupid it looks on Scott and Derek. At least he managed that better than them - he's a relatively good looking werewolf, "That's a relief. I've never actually seen myself in the mirror when I'm shifted."

"That narcissistic of you."

"Will you just open the gate already?" he gestures at the stupid thing for extra emphasis.

"Why a _rowan_ tree though? Why not laburnum, that at least is poisonous. Yew?"

"Yew is commonly associated with death," a voice comes from within the clinic, "Rowan on the other hand is for protection and safety. That is why it will form a barrier than no supernatural being can cross, "and with that Deaton reaches on hand out and opens it. It's almost taunting Stiles how easily it can be done, if only he didn't have lycanthropy pumping through his veins. "Come on in, Stiles, Lydia."

"I thought you were retired," Stiles slips past, glaring at the vet. "Y'know, from the werewolf supernatural stuff?" Deaton looks entirely far too amused. He's probably been standing there listening to them argue for the past five minutes. He's that sort of guy.

"I never said that," Deaton says, perfectly serenely and Stiles wants to punch him in the face. He wishes he'd left this to Scott. The guy is far too cryptic for his own good. The next time Stiles asks for help he's probably going to walk away with a subscription to Veterinarian's Weekly and only more questions than he had when he started.

"How can I help you?" Deaton asks. It's far too vague, but Stiles latches onto that. If Deaton has perfected the art of saying just enough but not enough at the same time, then Stiles will demonstrate the art of saying everything and anything.

"So… these murders," he says.

"I've heard," Deaton nods for him to continue.

"I did some research and I think they're sacrifices. It… it's like, every culture, every myth has it's own stories, own facts, own reality. And somehow they all intermingle. Lycanthropy was meant to come from Lycaon, that's Greek. But this sacrifice thing, that's Celtic. So is the triskeles, the mountain ash… So I looked into some stuff about the Celtic druids - it's a whole cult. A sect. A religion. A way of life. People still practise that stuff, they have for centuries. They believed it gave them power. There's a 2000 year old body they found in England called the lindow-man. He was strangled, throat cut and head bashed in. They found _pollen grains_ in his stomach belonging to mistletoe, a plant favoured by the druids but a plant that actually - is more famous in Norse mythology for Loki killing Baldur. Like, is Loki even real? Are any of these gods real?"

"I think you got off track a while ago," Lydia tells him serenely, despite having listened intently with real interest to him. He shoots her a grin, appreciating for a moment the amazing person that is Lydia Martin.

"Doesn't matter," Stiles shrugs, staring straight at Deaton, "He knows what I'm talking about. Don't you?"

Deaton looks grave and doesn't say anything.

"You always know what's going on," Stiles presses, "Peter didn't know who you were, but Laura did, she asked you questions when she came back to town. Derek didn't know, which means it must have been an alpha only thing. So why don't you help us now, before someone else gets hurt?"

"It's not easy," Deaton admits, "I've spent years trying to push something away. Denying it. Lying about it. Until eventually I almost believed the lies. The druids…" he says, turning to fetch something, "were very misguided people. They should have known better. Once I was misguided too." He turns back to Stiles and Lydia, dropping a small box of herbs. Each has a symbol inked in black on the side.

"That's mountain ash," Lydia gestures to one with one straight vertical line, and two small lines sticking out to the right.

"And this…" Deaton pulls out anther, "Is mistletoe."

"Did they find mistletoe in the bodies?" Lydia asks Stiles.

"I don't know. Can I borrow your phone? I need to ask Melissa…" Lydia glares at him, "You know what, never mind. You can do it… or I'll ask Scott or…"

"I'll try to help," Deaton says, "I'll try to help Scott and his pack as much as I can, but there is only so much I know."

"Scott and his pack?" Lydia frowns, but Stiles just shrugs.

"Well any help would be, y'know, helpful."

"Do you know what druid means in Gaelic?" Deaton asks. Stiles doesn't see how that's even vaguely relevant _or_ helpful.

"Wise oak," Lydia answers, "But we didn't come here for a language lesson."

"Druids were close to nature. They believed in balance and were philosophers, not serial killers. What we have here is someone abusing their practises, a copy-cat if you will. They've got three bodies…"

"Four," Stiles corrects, "The first three were virgins and Kyle… well…" he rubs at his cheek as if recalling the slap he had gotten for that line of questioning, "According to his girlfriend he wasn't a virgin so I'm thinking groups of threes…"

"You insensitive bastard," Lydia rolls her eyes.

"You're right," Deaton says.

"That's harsh," Stiles says, "True, but harsh… oh wait, you mean they _are_ in groups of threes?"

Deaton nods, "Each group would have a link. A purpose. Virgins. Healers. Philosophers. Warriors." Deaton stops when Stiles and Lydia exchange a meaningful glance, "Ah," he says, "I take it you know which one…"

"Kyle was in R.O.T.C. It was on his locker," Stiles says.

"And the teacher," Lydia explains, "He used to be military. That would be warriors, right?"

Deaton nods, gravely, "But that also means we need a third sacrifice."

Lydia smiles, thinly, "That's okay. I think I'll probably find it in a bit."

 

Scott slides in late to English. On his phone is a picture of Isaac sitting on a motorbike. Ms Blake is standing at the front talking in a tired voice. He wonders for a second whether Derek ever explained things to her or not, but then decides that since Derek is off the reservation, that job probably fell to Chris.

Cora slides into a spare seat next to him. There are two spare seats actually - both Stiles and Lydia aren't in class. Scott ignores that for now, dropping his bag down with a clunk and turning to grin at the twins.

Feeling so, _so_ smug, Scott reaches into his bag and pulls out a gear. He spins it around his fingers, watching as Ethan's jaw drops open and Aiden leans forwards in alarm. "Looks kind of important," he says.

Cora adds to it, leaning over and dropping another part on top of it, "I have no idea what this even does," she says, smirking, "I hope it wasn't expensive."

In the distance there is the rev of a motorcycle. If they caught for this, Scott is in so much trouble.

As it is, Aiden races past where Ms Blake is writing out 'Bildungsroman' on the board. She turns around with a frown and that's when the motorbike sounds again, louder and closer and--

"What is that?" Ms Blake steps out of the classroom and around the corner. Scott is pretty sure that she didn't intend for the whole class to follow, but they do. By the time he gets there, Isaac is standing with his arms crossed out of the way, and Aiden is holding onto his bike looking like a startled deer caught in the headlights.

Allison sidles up to the other side of Cora, "Score?" she asks.

"You realise this is going to result in a suspension?"

"We won!" Cora sing-songs under her breath.

Isaac and Scott high-five.

 

"I'm worried about Derek."

In hindsight, Malia wishes she had not allowed those words to let Erica drag her back to the loft. The school bell rings, Scott and Allison and talking about the alphas, Isaac and Cora are nearby, Malia doesn't know where Stiles or Lydia have gone so she goes with the other girl.

She kind of likes Erica. Only up to a point; because Erica isn't her favourite person. She likes to toss her hair and examine her nails too often for Malia's liking but beneath that?

Erica has embraced the perks of the bite, the animal side and that? That is something Malia is familiar with.

"So you think he'll be here?" Malia looks around the loft even as Erica pushes the door.

Head turns to Malia, Erica shrugs, "He wasn't here this morning, but who knows? Maybe he got worried about his pack and decided actually give a f--" she stops. Malia is silent, staring over Erica's shoulder at the loft. She had seen it before and it…

It didn't look like this.

"What happened here?" Malia blinks, "We left it fine after the full moon."

"This… this wasn't me," Erica says.

The loft is quite simply - wrecked. The thing that might have once been Derek's bed is torn to bits; the table is in five pieces of shattered wood and the window…

It's a triangle, Malia thinks, but triangles don't have arms that spider out like reaching claws.

"The alpha pack," Erica breathes, suddenly looking fearful, "They were here."

"Looking for Derek?" Malia asks, sniffing the air to try and learn the scents of the wolves, "At least he wasn't here then." She looks back at Erica, but the blonde is stalking across to where someone is perched on the stairs. She's not a threat, so Malia hadn't reacted but Erica looks furious.

"Where were you?"

"Don't look at me," Braeden says, polishing her gun, "I went to track down that alpha of yours."

"What did you do to Derek?" Erica snarls.

"Nothing! Down, girl," Braeden watches in amusement as Erica shakes her hair out of her face, stalking over to examine the mark spray painted onto the window. "That was there when I got back," she says, "Fyi, I'm taking off."

"You're leaving?" Malia whirls around, "But…"

The mercenary laughs, "I'm certainly not hanging about to meet the pack that almost ripped my throat out," her head tilts out, bandages illuminated in the evening sun. "I might hang around. You lot need all the help you can get."

"Where is Derek?" Erica looks pale.

Braeden just shrugs and doesn't answer.

"I can't stay here," Erica says, "Not if they know where we are. I… I'm going to tell Isaac…"

"You do that," Braeden says, sliding the gun together like an intricate puzzle, "What about you, coyote?"

"Me?" Malia blinks, looking around, trying to figure out what she should do.

She doesn't even know Derek. Not really. But on the other hand…

"I'm going to tell Scott," she says, "Scott will know what to do."

 

They stare at the body.

"Why does this keep happening to me?" Lydia whispers, her arms wrapped around her shoulders as if she is afraid she might fall apart if she lets herself go. Stiles barely realises he has his arms around her until she returns the hug, shaking against his chest.

"I'll call the Sheriff," Deaton says.

"Who is it?" Lydia won't turn to look, so Stiles look for her. It's the same. A wound around the throat and head, and a thin piece of wire cutting off the airway.

"Our chemistry teacher," Stiles says, "The school's going to have to find someone else they… uh… aren't lasting very long."

He feels Lydia pull back and he lets her. She turns and he tries to warn her.

"It's not pretty."

"I've got to see," she whispers, "I've got to…" she stops, taking it in. In the sky above her there is a rumble of thunder and Stiles feels the first drop of rain fall onto his cheek.

"Are you going to scream?" he asks.

"No," she says, voice sounding distant, "Why would I? We've already found the body." She steps closer and Stiles pulls away. He doesn't want to see.

"We need to tell Derek," Stiles says, hands going for his phone, and then stopping when he remembers he still doesn't have a new one. "Dammit," he says, "I don't even know where that guy is."

"Boyd died, Stiles," Lydia says, critically, "Derek took that hard."

"Boyd was going to kill a civilian. Derek made a choice and personally?" Stiles asked, "I think it was the right one."

"You would," Lydia huffs, "Was that how you justified it?"

"Well at least I never ran off to mope as if possessed badgers ate my collection of leather jackets," Stiles curls his lip, "I swear Peter started that whole 'werewolves wear leather thing' but did he buy me a leather jacket when I joined his pack? No, Stiles, here's a guy, kill him for me…" Stiles stops talking when he sees Deaton giving him a funny look.

"Hey," Lydia says softly, "What is this?"

"What is what?" Stiles glances back around to see Lydia reaching for the body, "No - don't touch it! You'll contaminate any evidence we might have."

Lydia pulls her hand back, but gestures at something. Deaton steps forwards and reluctantly, Stiles looks too. It doesn't look like much. A dog tag under his shirt, "So he was military too?" Stiles asks, "Also a warrior, but we already knew that…"

"No," Deaton is the one to grab the dog tag, "Look at the metal."

Stiles looks. At first he doesn't see it. It's just a dog tag, right?

But the tag isn't printed with anything that makes sense. The metal is warped and bent and--

"When powerful magic takes place," Deaton says, "It affects the area around it. The animals realise first. Then the elements," he looks up to where the rain splatters down on them, "The magic from this sacrifice warped the metal."

"What does it say?" Lydia asks, "That isn't a word…"

"You remember," Deaton sighs, "That I told you 'druid' was a word for 'wise oak'? Well if a druid went down the wrong path, a dark path, then the wise oak was often said to have become a dark oak. There's a gaelic word for that too." He holds up the tag.

And Stiles reads it. It says one word. Just one.

"Darach."


	9. Imperfect

Everybody else has just sort of treated Derek's loft like an extension of their own houses and had come and gone like it was nothing. But Lydia? Lydia _knocks_.

Cora stares at her. She almost wants to push the door open, because it is after all, a family home by right. She is about to do so when the door opens anyway, revealing Peter standing in the doorway.

"Stiles," Lydia says sweetly, "Where did you leave my flamethrower?"

"In my jeep. Want me to fetch it?"

"Now…" Peter chides, "That's not very nice."

Lydia frowns, "You're not Derek."

"How very observant of you. Derek isn't here right now so I’m in charge of his loft. I think he actually made me stay because his pet goldfish has separation anxiety and he can’t bear to leave it alone for a day."

"You're still not funny," Cora shoves past her uncle, pushing harder than she should have. He'd killed Laura, after all, and she didn't know how Derek had just allowed him to walk around as if nothing had happened…

Peter huffs softly, and then again as Stiles also pushes past him. Cora really wants to know what that was about, because she figures Peter hadn't exactly gone out of his way to make people like him. Even Lydia ignores him, following the other two in and looking around. "Nice place," she comments, "A bit bland, and what is with the bed in the corner?"

"It has a kitchen," Stiles says, his tone only a degree or so above sarcasm, "with an actual oven, but I don't think Derek has ever used it. I checked it out - Isaac said on a good day there is a box of cereal in the cupboards."

"So… where is Derek?" Lydia asks the question. Since he obviously isn't there, after all, and Peter is still standing in the doorway with arched eyebrows.

"Probably moping," Stiles shrugs, standing by the window that looks out over Beacon Hills.

"You mean sulking," Lydia corrects him.

Cora corrects them both, "He's _mourning_ ," she says, glaring at the pair of them. She hates the feeling that they know her brother better than she does. But in reality they do. Lydia helped hide him when he was under suspicion for murder, and Stiles helped his pack deal with a kanima, whatever _that_ is. "It's been well over two days," she says. Stiles and Lydia don't seem to understand, so she looks to Peter. He just stalks over to the sofa. "Two days," Cora says to Stiles and Lydia, "That's what we're taught when the hunters find us - hide and heal and wait."

"We've done it before," Peter turns to them all, voice grave, "There were hunters here about ten years ago. A wolf had killed one theirs and so they… they killed the one responsible."

"We hunt those," Stiles quotes, "Who hunt us."

"That's right," Peter grins, all teeth, "Derek has gone to ground assumedly out of some misguided notion that it will protect the rest of his pack from himself."

"Braeden found him," Cora says, voice short, "But she wouldn't tell me where he was. This… this isn't like him. I came back to Beacon Hills hearing rumours that a powerful alpha, one of the Hales, was building a pack. I waited… for so long to hear something like that. To hear that it was safe. To know I could come out of hiding and then… I get here, and I get thrown in a vault for three months for this?" she gestures, "Uncle Peter who killed Sister Laura. And Brother Derek hiding. Like a coward." She scoffs, unable to stop the bitterness that wells up.

Peter's giving her a strange look. Maybe he knows why she hid. Maybe he can hear it in her voice, in the way her voice stumbles and heart beat trips along. Or maybe he's just curious as to where she was hiding for so, so long. Cora wonders how it could have been had they stayed together. Laura, Derek, Cora and Peter all together, the last of the Hales.

But instead they had scattered. Gone underground. And now Laura was dead and there was a new pack made up of high schoolers.

"We need to tell him about the sacrifices," Stiles presses, "About the twins. About…" he gestures to the dripping black on the window, "...that."

"I've looked," Cora stresses, "I couldn't find him."

"Well did you try everywhere?" Stiles asks, waving his hands about in a pointless motion,

"I've tried everywhere I've thought off… I told you, Derek didn't used to be like this."

"Are you telling me he didn't always have the broody pensive thing going for him?" Lydia and Stiles both look sceptical.

Peter looks up from where he's lazing on the sofa, "He used to be a lot like Scott, actually."

Stiles straightens, head tilting to one side like an animal. He does that a lot when he looks at Peter, Cora notices. She's not sure if he even realises he's doing it, "What changed?" the beta asks.

"What changes every other young man out there from an unbearably romantic, profoundly narcissistic, barely tolerable teen to an adult? Love. And heartbreak. He met a girl."

"I know about that," Stiles rolls his eyes and Cora frowns, because she doesn't know what they're talking about and--

Peter laughs, "Oh no, that came later when he was broken and saw nothing but sadness. When he was young and easy to manipulate. No, this? This was his first love. And unlike Scott and his little hunter, she? She was perfect for him, in a way few people ever are. She was musical, played the cello. That's how they met, I believe. Derek, if you remember, used to play basketball."

Cora nods, recalling his obsession with the sport. They don't talk about it now. Now it's all lacrosse, but for now she'll deal with cross-country. Besides, they have a meeting out of town at the end of the week, and anything that gets her away from danger is good in her opinion

"Derek interrupted her music practise. She stood up to him. One minute, it's, "I hate you, don't talk to me." The next, it's frantic groping in any dark corner they could manage to find themselves alone in for five minutes."

"How do you know all this?" Lydia asks sceptically.

Peter tilts his head, "I wasn't just his uncle. I was his best friend, his closest confidante…"

"You mean you were following them?"

Peter levels Stiles with a glare and the other wolf glares right back. Cora clears her throat, "Regardless," she says, "I don't remember that girl - what was her name?"

"Paige."

"What happened to her?"

"Well…" Peter smirks, "I mentioned there were hunters around and that they'd killed a wolf. Not one of ours. That's because the packs were in town."

 

Beacon Hills Crossing Home is a little bit out of the ways, but they still find it. Allison stole the address from her dad’s study and met Scott there, the werewolf on his bike and her in her car.

Scott wonders if her dad knows she’s here. If Chris knows his daughter is aware of what happened to her grandfather and even is going as far to bring a wolf here to talk to him.

Because Gerard knows things. He’s been hunting a very long time and if anyone knows anything useful about Deucalion, it will be Gerard.

Gerard is a medical mystery. Black bile drips from his nose and throat, but the cancer is gone as if it was never there.

He's a threat. A bomb waiting to explode. The mountain ash won't stay in his system forever, Scott knows that. But for now he's crippled. His own body is fighting itself and he sits there, leering at Scott like he's a piece of meat.

Allison looks murderous. Scott's surprised frankly that Allison and Stiles haven't ganged together and poisoned Gerard with wolfsbane already.

He wonders if he'll be disappointed if they do, or if he'll just regret the fact he hasn't done it for himself.

The pain hurts. Scott's glad. He's pleased it hurts. He lets go, and the old hunter sighs. The grandfather act is just that, an act, and even Allison appears to think so. For a moment Scott's bones, blood, very flesh aches, and then his body heals it, siphoning it away.

"Go on then," Allison says her voice sharp, "Talk. Deucalion."

"Ah, yes," he croaks out, "You know it's surprising, what lengths people will go to, in order to get rid of a better enemy."

"Get someone else to do it for you," Scott says. "Isn't that your policy?"

Gerard Argent smirks, "Deucalion… well… he's a dangerous foe. Are you sure you want to go up against him?"

"He killed my mother," Allison says, "He bit her, and then you finished her off. Tell us."

Gerard smiles, "You know, you remind me a lot of Kate."

Allison stiffens, face turned away. Scott wonders what she's thinking, wonders why they're even there in the first place but…

"This is a waste of time," Allison says, "He doesn't know anything."

Scott turns with her to go. He knows what she's doing, and sure enough there is a hurried, "Wait! I don't know how to beat him, but I can tell you one thing. Deucalion may have lost his eyes, but he's not always blind."

Scott can feel Allison's reluctance. He has the same feeling, but they need to know. Derek is nowhere to be found and Peter's talking to Stiles and Lydia right now. Maybe between them, they can find out something useful…

"About ten years ago the Packs came to town. A wolf had killed a hunter. A hunter had killed a wolf. The packs… wanted revenge."

"The Packs?" Scott asks. He knows logically there should be more than just the Hales and his own ragtag friends. He knows logically there might be hundred, countless others, but he didn't know they were in contact. It wasn't like they met up and had werewolf conventions once a year, because god, that would be a hunter feast…

"They didn't all live in Beacon Hills, but they lived close enough. Kali, Ennis, Deucalion… they came together to discuss the hunters and… to seek advice from the alpha of the pack that did live here. Talia Hale."

"That's Derek's mother, right?" Allison asks, "Peter's…" she pauses, "Hang on, if Peter's her sister, how come he and Derek share the same name?"

Gerard settles back in his chair, and even though he looks ill, look sick and elderly, his gaze is still sharp, "Talia Hale was an exceptionally strong alpha. She had a capacity to shape-shift in a way that not even Derek can. Few werewolves ever go full wolf. Sometimes it goes wrong. They turn into a more monstrous shape than they already are."

"Laura could," Scott remembers, "Laura…" he looks at Allison, "Stiles and I found her body in the woods. There was a wolfsbane spiral to force the shift, even in death. She was a wolf."

"The Hales and Argents share one thing in common," Gerard nods slowly, "They're both matriachal families. The woman are the leaders. Talia kept the family name, and got the alpha status. The Hales were, after all, a born wolf family that stretched back for generations."

"Until Kate."

Gerard wisely doesn't say anything, "The packs in the areas sought her advice and guidance. But Ennis - angry at the loss of his beta - called out for vengeance."

 

"You guys take the whole revenge vendetta thing to the death, don't you?" Stiles asks but the words are rhetorical.

"Losing a member of your pack is like losing your limb," Cora whispers, "Laura… Laura promised revenge. For the fire. She spent six years looking for who did it… looking for proof so she could have them thrown in jail and it would be safe..."

"Derek knew," Peter says.

"Maybe Laura did too," Lydia shrugs, "She had this list… a list of all the people named 'Harris' who lived in the area. She wasn't tracking the killer, she was tracking down proof."

"You know something that always bothered me?" Stiles asks, "Derek told me once there were human members in his pack. So how come not one human managed to help the wolves escape the fire? Why were you the only survivor?" he eyeballs Peter for a long while and Peter curls his lip scornfully.

"Not the only survivor," Lydia articulates, and Stiles' head swings around to look at Cora with a frown, "How did you survive?" Lydia presses.

"Eight dead," Stiles quotes from memory, "Eleven trapped and eight dead. Derek and Laura were… I don't even know - wasn't the fire at night? So where were Derek and Laura?"

"At school," Peter says, sounding irritated, "Derek was sixteen. He has a basketball game and Laura was there with him, cheering him on."

"And the rest of the family?" Stiles asks, now genuinely curious, "Don't parents usually go to their kid’s games?"

Cora surprisingly is the one who speaks up, "It was the Wolf Moon. January. We… we decided to meet up, have a family get together - Derek and Laura were going to arrive later and it was our kind of ritual family meet up. Our cousins, uncles, grandparents… they were all there. I… I was with Derek and Laura, but I left early because of the moon. I was in the woods when I realised something was wrong and I… I ran. I panicked and I ran."

"I had wondered," Peter muses.

Stiles looks between uncle and niece, then shakes his head, "It doesn't explain how you didn't get out - I mean, Peter survived," he ignores the glare his old alpha shoots towards him, "Half of your family were werewolves and Talia was the alpha…"

"Talia," Lydia hums, "Huh, sounds a bit like Malia."

"The people Kate hired," Peter sneers, "They used accelerants to make the fire burn hotter. They also used wolfsbane and mountain ash. The full mix."

"Still," Lydia frowns, "Humans."

Peter whirls on her, looking seconds away from snapping her head off, "They were _dead_!" he shouts, anger evident in his voice, "They were too busy burning alive, do you even know how that feels like?" Stiles can remember. They aren't his memories, but he remembers. Vividly.

"No," Lydia meets Peter blow for blow, "But you must, after all, you got to experience it twice," her tone is snide and she doesn't pull punches. Peter looks seconds away from ripping out her throat and Stiles steps deliberately in their path, eyes flashing blue.

Peter pulls back, "I managed to keep away from the main blaze by hiding in the tunnels. Someone else survived, but they died later from their injuries. I was lucky, if you can call it that."

"So if this was before…" Stiles skips over the word 'Kate' and while he doesn't know what Cora hears, it echoes in Lydia and Peter's expressions, "How old was Derek?"

"He was a sophomore," Peter says.

"So… fifteen. How old were you? How old are you now?" he glances over at Cora, "How old are you?"

"Seventeen," she answers.

Peter just shrugs, "Not as young as we could have been, but not as old as you might think."

"That's frustratingly vague."

"His medical files says '36'," Lydia answers.

"Now that's an answer," Stiles gestures with a grateful smile at Lydia.

She smirks back at him, and then turns to Peter, "So what happened next? Derek fell in love, the packs were in town, and the hunters were in town… I'm still waiting for it all to go tragically, horribly wrong."

"I told you Ennis lost a beta and I… I don't know what Derek was thinking," Peter shakes his head in the perfect modicum of the concerned uncle, "He was worried. About Paige - she was human after all and he was worried if she continued to be in his life then she would get hurt. He wanted to turn her."

"But Derek wasn't an alpha."

"No," Peter says, "But Ennis was. And he had just lost a beta."

"You told Derek to get the alpha to bite her?" Stiles asks.

Peter's lip curls, "Derek wanted to get her the bite. She was perfect for him. And perfect combinations are rare in an imperfect world." Peter sighs, "He probably blames me. I went along with the idea. There are advantages to the bite and… well…"

"The bite is a gift."

Cora shoots Stiles and Lydia a sharp look, then settles for glaring on a too smug Peter. Stiles blinks, not sure which one of them had said it.

"Exactly," the older Hale practically purrs, "The bite is a _gift_.”

"Does Derek remember it was Ennis?"

Peter shrugs, "Maybe. I think he got there too late to see. Or maybe he's repressed the memory. Either way it didn't change it. She was bitten."

"So she got the bite from Ennis." Cora shrugs, "What went wrong?"

"Ever wondered why Derek made a pack out of teenagers? Why I chose you and Scott, instead of some elderly guy at the hospital?"

"I always thought it was chance, really," Stiles admits, "That and you probably enjoy being creepy around teenage boys." His fingers tap against the wood of Derek's table. "You told me once that teenagers were more likely to survive the bite."

"More likely…" Lydia picks out the words, "She didn't survive, did she?"

"It was evident almost straight away. She was choking, coughing up this black substance as her body rejected, fought off the bite, the disease."

"I don't get it," Cora speaks up first, "Where's the story? So the bite didn't take, she died, Derek was sad. You couldn't have said that in half as many words?"

"Well…" Peter's grin is the very definition of wolfish, "I haven't finished, have I? Stiles, you remember what blue eyes mean?"

"Yeah," Stiles says, subdued, "I remember."

Lydia glances sideways at him, and there's a moment where Stiles wants to look away. But if he doesn't say anything, then Peter will. "When you take an innocent life," Stiles says, "Your eyes change. Gold to blue."

"That doesn't make sense," Lydia says, "I thought it was genetics, but then yours…"

Stiles just shrugs, glancing to Peter, "I guess that's why Derek had blue eyes then? Before he was an alpha… that means Paige…"

"He killed her. To end her suffering," Peter actually manages to make his voice sound sad, "I took her body to the woods, to a place where it would be found. Another in the long line of Beacon Hills’ animal attacks."

 

"The bite turns you into a shape that reflects yourself," Gerard says, "That's what the wolves say to explain the anomalies. The kanima, the coyotes, the wolves, they are shapeshifters, but they've been affected in different ways. It is believed the original shapeshifters were descended from Lycaon and the titans. Do you know the myth, Scott?"

Stiles had told it to him once, Scott remembers, "It's where we get the word 'lycanthropy'. He was one of the first men, but he refused to honour the gods and tried to serve Zeus human flesh. Zeus got angry and destroyed everything, and he cursed Lycaon and his sons into half wolf half human monsters."

"Over time," Gerard says, "They learnt to shift back and forth. The wolves often partnered with the druids who knew how to shapeshift. Even once they mastered that, they stayed as important advisors to the pack. Like that vet of yours, Scott."

"Deaton? He's a druid?"

"He and his sister - Morrell - are descendants of druids that first came across from Europe. They brought their practise with them. Chris and I even found an old Nemeton in the woods."

"A Nemeton?" Allison frowns.

"A sacred meeting place - usually a tree, the oldest in the grove. They would make sacrifices to it, worship it… it is said that if anything harmed the nemeton, then catastrophes would plague the surrounding villages. Death. Fire. Plague. Strife and Chaos and Destruction."

"How did you know it was a Nemeton?" Scott frowns.

"There was blood on the root and carved into it was a fivefold knot."

 

"Emissaries?" Lydia asks, frowning.

Cora nods, as if she knows exactly what Peter is talking about, "They're druids. They keep us connected to humanity. Advisors of sorts."

"Druids? As in Celtic druids, Merlin and magic and…"

"It's not magic," Peter sneers.

"I'm a werewolf," Stiles deadpans.

"It's not magic," Cora agrees, "It's a way of life, a religion. Deaton and his half-sister Morrell adhere to it but I've never seen either do anything magical. They have no power, they're just humans."

Lydia flinches, " _Morrell_? Our guidance councillor?"

"Allison's French teacher," Stiles breathes, "She was Deucalion's emissary, wasn't she?"

Peter nods. He looks like he's fallen asleep, but he opens one eye lazily, "And Deaton was Talia's. He advised Deucalion to meet Gerard on neutral ground. Talk out a truce."

"And did it work?"

"What do you think?"

" _Uncle_."

Peter sighs, and like it's an effort he sits up, hands clasped in his lap, "It was a trap. Gerard had set up wolfsbane that took out not just the wolves, but his hunters too. He wore a gas mask and walked among them like a god with a mace. Into the wood he’d stabbed the claws of shifters he had killed. First he ripped apart his hunters. He made it look like they were attacked by the wolves. Then he turned on Deucalion. You know those flash arrows the Argents are so fond of using?"

"The really bright ones?" Stiles asks, "I'm familiar with them."

"He stuck two in Deucalion's eyes. Then watched him crawl away in the dust. From what I hear, one of Deucalion's betas tried to take advantage of his alpha’s weakness. Deucalion ripped him apart."

"That's what they wanted Derek to do to Cora and Erica and… what he did to Boyd."

"An alpha’s power is in his pack. Quite literally. Having a pack makes you stronger, _faster_ , _better_ …"

"Saner?" Stiles drawls.

Peter continues, ignoring him, "Deucalion found another meaning of it when he slaughtered his and took their collective power back into him. Then he persuaded Kali and Ennis to do the same."

"So Derek killing Boyd...”

"--was all part of Deucalion's plan. He wants Derek in his pack, but before that can happen he needs to get rid of his baggage. Derek has to kill his own pack first."

"What's the purpose of having a super pack of alphas?" Stiles frowns, "Why not have a normal pack? Surely it’s more stable?"

"Come on, Stiles, I thought you were smarter than that," Peter sneers, "Can't you guess?"

Stiles studies a patch of floor and it is instead Cora that speaks up, "Alphas are more powerful than betas or omegas. A pack of alpha werewolves would be an undisputed lead pack?"

"Think bigger," Peter gestures, "Deucalion isn't one to lead. Once, maybe, but now?"

"He wants power," Stiles says, "But if not to have the power then he wants to do something with it…" he pauses only half a breath before he realises exactly what it is, "Hunters," he says, voice quiet and sombre, "He wants to take down the hunters."

"Now you've got it," Peter grins, flashing a sharp canine, "It's a war between hunters and wolves that has been going on for centuries. It's a war that Deucalion intends to win. Why do you think he bit Victoria Argent? The easiest way to get rid of a threat is to get somebody else to do it for you."

"You know," Stiles' lips curl, "It's funny, but I once heard Gerard say that exact same thing," he looks up, meeting Peter's gaze unflinchingly, "Makes you wonder who the monsters are. The werewolves or the hunters."

Peter's smile is thin, "How about we let Scott worry about that? He can be the hero of his morally black and white world, because after all, you and I, Stiles, we're survivors. We live in shades of grey."

 

"They came at me. It was a trap," Gerard's voice is grave and his heart? His heart doesn't stutter.

But the lies roll off his tongue and Scott doesn't know what is true anymore.

"We met at the abandoned distillery out of town. He came at me, tried to kill me. The hunters that were with me, weren't so fortunate. I had to defend myself. I blinded him, stabbed him in the eye with two arrows and crawled away before he could come after me."

"And then?" Scott asks, wanting to hear the rest despite himself.

"From what I hear, his beta tried to kill him. Deucalion got to him first because while his eyes healed physically, his vision never came back. Not quite, except when his eyes glowed red."

"He sees as a wolf?" Scott's vision is normal, but it flares up into colours and heat and shapes blurring around him in incredible detail and--

"Not always blind," Allison whispers.

It's funny, Scott thinks. Gerard and Deucalion are both monsters and they made themselves and each other into them to fight the other. Peter did that too. He and Kate.

Gerard's lying. He knows it. But that's okay, because Peter will lie to the others but somewhere between them, they'll know enough.

"You're a really good liar," he compliments Gerard on the way out; "Your heartbeat was steady throughout that entire conversation."

It doesn't matter. And Scott will turn a blind eye and pretend he hasn’t noticed the way Allison has been taking pictures of the security for the building, or the way she was scoping out the shifts of the hospital staff. Gerard stares after them as they leave and he's not a threat. Once, maybe, but now?

Now he's nothing more than an old man, dying in a hospital bed.


	10. Fraying

They meet in the dead of night. She doesn't tell Scott and she thinks neither will he. Stiles is already a few murders on Scott's bad side, this one won't do him any favours.

She doesn't try to think too much of who. Besides, it doesn't really matter. She's known the man less than half a year. He came into her life at an alarming and frightening time when she was still getting used to the idea of werewolves, and then stayed and carved out a bloody hole for himself.

Her mother is gone. He had a hand in that, she knows it. She'll always regret allowing herself to be driven away during those precious few days, and coming back only to find a knife and a dead mother, the werewolf gold barely risen and already faded from her eyes.

She blames Gerard. Especially for doing the hypocritical thing and then getting the bite himself. Her mother had more honour than him, even if she didn’t have the courage to stay for her husband and daughter.

"It's called battery."

She blinks up at Stiles, trying to understand what he's talking about. She glances at her car, almost expecting the battery to have died…

"Battery assault," Stiles adds, leaning back in the seat while they wait. His head is tilted to one side, quietly listening to the slowing heartbeat in the room nearby; "Unlawful attempt to injure another person; unlawful touching of someone against their will; or unlawfully causing bodily harm to an individual."

It sounds fancy, Allison thinks, "What?" she asks, trying to place where he's coming from.

"Your mom," he says, as if he had read her mind, "What Deucalion did to her... What Scott and Gerard forced Derek to do? What I did to Lydia… and what Peter did to Scott and I..." He stops, falling silent as if not sure that even applies.

"You didn't do that to Lydia," Allison says, gently. It's true. Lydia has told her about what happened, about the black outs and haunting, "Peter did. He bit you and Scott. He forced you to murder people for control, something he should have given willingly. In fact, now we've done with Gerard, how about we go after him next?"

His grin is weak, but there is gratitude there, "I can't deprive Cora and Derek of another relative. Besides… he hasn't actually done anything yet. He's had his revenge and now he just seems kind of pathetic. The most I've seen him do is lurk in the darkest corner of the room and make snarky comments."

"One of these days Lydia and I are going to ask him how much he knows about what she is. Because he knows. He does. He's just not saying anything."

"You're going to ask for help from Peter?"

"Lydia's going to have a Molotov cocktail in one hand and a taser in the other."

Stiles barks out a laugh, "The look on his face will be priceless."

"I'll take a picture," she promises.

It doesn't make it better. It doesn't stop Stiles waking in the middle of the night with nightmares. It never stopped Scott pressing his face into her neck like he was scared she was going to be torn away at any moment. It doesn't stop that razor sharp edge to Lydia's grin, not her own automatic lunge for a weapon every time something twitches outside her window.

But Stiles' head tilts to the side and a slow, languid smirk spreads across his face and he nods triumphantly. _That_ , she thinks, is at least that is one less thing for her to jump at.

 

They arrive at her house, and Allison pauses to grab the evidence from the trunk of her car. Stiles peers over her shoulder, "Do you always carry getaway bags, ready-packed?" Stiles narrows his eyes, "Let me guess, there are weapons in there as well?"

"That's not a guess," Allison scoffs, "You can smell the gunpowder." Stiles sticks out his tongue at her.

It’s not as easy as it used to be to get up to Allison's room. They have to take the elevator and for some reason Stiles keeps twitching.

"What's wrong?" she asks, when he doesn't relax, not even when they reach her apartment, "You're jumpy. Is it because…? We _won't_ get caught. We're going to be fine; they'll assume the cancer finally offed him."

"It's not that," he blinks a little, "There's a scent somewhere that puts me on edge, but I can't really get a clear signal. Not in an apartment full of people."

She considers him for a moment as she drops down on her bed. "So… there's something I really want to ask you. And it’s kind of awkward, and I couldn't ask Scott and I don't exactly know any other werewolves…"

"There's always Derek. He has a propensity for sneaking through windows."

"He does it to you too?" she finds a grin curling onto her face, "No, but this is a stupid question."

Stiles shrugs, "Ask away. It can't be that bad."

"Can you smell if I'm on my period?"

Because Allison is a horrible person, she chooses the moment to ask exactly as Stiles is sipping his can of coke. He manages not to spray it out through his mouth, but does choke, and one hand goes to his nose as he struggles to swallow, "What." He can't even put the inflection on the question.

"I was joking!" Allison says, trying not to laugh too hard at Stiles' attempts to smack himself on the back, "Seriously, don't freak out."

"Wasn't--" he sucks in air, "Freaking. Was I freaking? Did it look like I was freaking? I had to give Malia a sex talk the other day, this? This is nothing.

"I wasn't being serious."

"Thank god."

"Can you though?" she asks despite herself. She's curious. She wants to know and asking Stiles is far less awkward than asking Scott.

The blue-eyed beta sighs, taking another sip of his drink and thankfully swallowing this one without choking, "Allison," he begins, as if about to impart a great secret on her, "I can smell and hear my neighbours who live around the block having sex. So yes, I can smell it when you bleed."

She pulls a face at the image and then pauses, "Is it really that bad?" she asks, trying to imagine sleeping with all those sounds and smells around her.

He pulls a face, and that conveys half of the reality right there. That and the headphones he almost always has in his bag or around his neck, "The bad days can be pretty bad," he says, "It's like I can hear everything. Like a lot of really loud TV's and I can't make it stop. My dad helps, it's like someone comes and turns down the volume. Scott helps too… and Lydia. Back when Peter…" There's that pause, that blip that comes up everything the former-alpha's name is mentioned and then Stiles continues as if nothing has happened, "Back when Peter was alpha, it was like someone had given _me_ the remote; given me the option of which TV to listen to."

"That sounds…" she can't imagine, she knows she can't so she doesn't even try.

He shrugs, "I'm used to it now. At one point near the start it was like…" he struggles to explain it, "I would focus on everything and anything. A speck of dust - oo, dust, then a cat screeching, and I'd wonder about cats and then oo, look, homework, hey that paper grain is really weird, the ink's kind of blotchy--"

"Okay, okay, I get it!" laughing she shoves his shoulder gently. He rolls with it, baring his teeth at her with just the hint of a fang in mockery of her. "That's so scary," she pretends to quail, "Watch me weep in terror."

"I've never seen you weep," he curled his lip.

"I'm crying on the inside," she deadpans.

He pauses, shaking his head, "Actually, that's a lie. When you found out your mother…" he stops, and she can't look at him. She doesn't want to talk about this and Stiles… Stiles backs off, "Sorry," he says, "I know how that feels and just… if you ever want to talk about dead moms then I… I know what it's like."

She glances up, meeting his gaze. There is understanding there, she realises, because Stiles is right. She's not the only one to have lot a mother. Allison feels guilty suddenly, "I'm sorry," she says, "I keep acting all shitty about my mom… when I keep forgetting you lost yours too."

"And Isaac," Stiles doesn't appear to want to talk about it, "And Derek and Cora and Malia and we should form a club. Beacon Hills’ Dead Mother's Society."

"That's awful," she scolds his morbid sense of humour. She remembers once telling Scott how Stiles was practically a sociopath. She can't remember if she used that word to describe him or not but she… she's changed her mind. Or maybe Stiles has changed just as much as Scott has from the bite.

Stiles grows serious suddenly, leaning over to meet her gaze, "Deucalion will pay," he promises, "We'll bring him down. For what he made Derek do to Boyd as well…"

She nods, trying not to let her voice waver. Instead she keeps her tone quiet, but strong, "He's British," she whispers, "Real name unknown. Named himself Deucalion after one of the titans."

"The son of Prometheus, right?" Stiles frowns, "Kali is a god as well…"

"Goddess," Allison corrects, "Of Destruction. Apparently some werewolves take on monikers to honour the old gods. The alpha we know as Deucalion also took on a title to go with his name… he calls himself the Demon Wolf, and Death, Destroyer of Worlds."

There is a pause, then Stiles' sass filled deadpan of "Wow, really?" she nods, "And here I thought Peter was a megalomaniac, but this guy actually compares himself to the atomic bomb. Seriously? He actually goes around quoting Oppenheimer? How is your dad okay with you hunting down Deucalion?"

A laugh escapes her before she can stop it, "You really think I told my dad I was going after the alpha pack with you guys? He doesn't even like you."

"He shot Scott once with a crossbow, but he still let him date you."

"'Let' is a subjective word. Besides I don't 'let' my dad do anything. I can look after myself."

"Even against werewolves with teeth and claws?"

"I can protect myself from teeth and claws," Allison laughs. Stiles raises on eyebrow, as if taking that as a challenge. She grins, pushing herself off the bed and bouncing a little on the toes of her feet and the innocence of it means he doesn't even realise she's within punching distance until she hits one of her fists out, crashing it into his face.

"Ow," he says, glaring at her although there is no heat to it, just mild irritation, "Didn't anybody tell you it was bad to provoke a werewolf?"

"No. They kept telling me what a bad idea to date one was," she grins teasingly back at him, fists up and inviting a challenge. He takes it, stepping forwards and sidestepping the next punch with ease.

Allison finds herself on the floor ten seconds later, glaring up at a laughing werewolf. "How did you learn to do that?"

"Sheriff's kid," he taunts, "My dad made me take self-defence classes once."

She raises one sceptical eyebrow.

"Okay, okay," he shakes his head, "I wasn't very good. I was more likely to knock myself out than my enemies were. But after the bite I've been slightly more co-ordinated. Peter… he gave me the rigmarole once. This is how you fight. Fight or die. The usual spiel, according to what I've heard from Isaac about Derek's training sessions he used to run in that abandoned warehouse station."

"Not bad," Allison admits, still pinned to the floor, "But I'm a hunter. My dad tied me up in the Hale House and left me for two hours to get out. You really think I wouldn't be able to beat you in a fight?"

"What part of 'werewolf strength' doesn't make sense to you?"

In an easy move, Allison twists, rolling Stiles off her and bringing herself around until she's the one straddling to him. Stiles tenses as if about to throw her off and its easy to bring the dagger to his throat. He freezes, then slumps, relaxed under her. "The fact that you think it makes you a better fighter than me. It's cute," she smirks down at him.

Stiles growls. Actually growls and his eyes flash electric blue.

"Is that meant to frighten me?" she asks, sweetly.

"You wouldn't be much of a hunter if it did," Stiles practically purrs, and then almost completely ignoring the knife, copies the same move Allison had done to him only a minute before. Her blade cuts into his neck and blood trickles out but Allison always forgets…

Werewolves heal.

"Not bad," she admits, "Bet you can't shoot a bow and arrow."

"Your recurve bow or your compound?"

She's about to reply when the door opens and Allison turns her head, realising belatedly that she's on her back, Stiles pushing her shoulders into the carpet.

"Allison, I've just had a call from the Hospital--oh--"

Even worse it's her dad. He stands with a slack-jaw that tenses every second the pair are like that, which isn't long because Stiles rolls off her as if he's been stung, "Mr Argent!" Stiles says, and then promptly knocks himself into the bed, losing any and all potential grace he occasionally manages to pull together. There is a thump as he hits his arm against something trying to stand, and Allison sits up to watching him in amusement, "I'm good!" he says, "Mr Argent, how are you…?"

"Stiles," Chris doesn't seem impressed, "Allison. This isn't going to be like the time when I came in during the middle of the night to find you two binge-watching Game of Thrones again?"

"That was once!" she protests, "And that was Lydia."

"You binge-watched Game of Thrones without me?" Stiles squawks.

"No!" Chris points a finger at the werewolf, "You are not sleeping over. I don't trust you."

"Wha- bu - no, no, _that_? We were fighting. Mock-fighting. Showing each other the moves… not those moves… I was not molesting your daughter. There was no molesting of anyone of anything going on here. Not that Allison isn't a beautiful girl because she is, and not that I wouldn't mind doing things like that with her but at the moment we're in a comfortably safe friend position and we're planning to keep it there…"

"Stiles?"

"Yes?"

"Get out."

"Yes sir."

Allison watches him get to the door, and then press himself as far back as he can get from the hunter. He almost walks into the door frame, but gets out unscathed, casts a dark look at Chris, waves once at Allison and is gone.

Stiles has more common sense than Scott, obviously, and unlike Scott he appears fully aware that not only could she kill him, but her father could as well.

 

Stiles avoids Scott for the day or so after that. Maybe it's making it obvious, but he can't lie to Scott. Not anymore, so he'd rather avoid his friend entirely.

Besides - there are other things to worry about. Namely the dark druid - or as Deaton calls it, a Darach - killing people and leaving them around as human sacrifices. He heads out into the woods to check out the location of the latest body found in the preserve. Because as if the preserve wasn't dangerous enough there are now dead bodies turning up everywhere Stiles and his friends turn.

He doesn't go alone - that would be stupid what with the pack of alphas still out for their blood. He takes Malia with him, dragging her away from threatening bodily harm to her math homework. The were-coyote is all too relieved to leave it for later, although that would be a headache for Stiles. Getting Malia to do school work of any kind is a headache. Having lived without it for years, she just doesn't see the point of it.

That's one of the things Stiles admires about Malia 'I don't know how to human' Tate. She doesn't care what other people think of her, it's like their opinions have no relevance on her. Least of all the opinions of the various tutors she has had, Stiles and Lydia included somewhere in that very long list.

The body is long gone but that doesn't matter. The wounds were the same. The scene is cordoned off and sniffing around Stiles can smell nothing out of place. There's just a cloying smell of earth and oak with the slight bitter tang of ozone in the air.

"Well this is a waste of time," he kicks at a patch of weeds in annoyance, "There's nothing here."

"At least we know it’s not the alphas," Malia tells him, "If anything, this started after the alphas made themselves known…"

Stiles glances up at her, and she blinks at him, not even realising what she just said, "Malia, you're amazing!"

"I am?"

He gestures to the police tape, "Sacrifices are typically to ask for more power, right? So what if these sacrifices have started up because someone with a vendetta against the Alpha Pack wants to take them out. A druid or…" he snaps his fingers, "Emissary. What if the Darach used to be an emissary to one of the alphas? But then when they killed their pack, they wanted revenge?"

"Problem: they killed their whole pack. Including their emissaries. Also the alphas have been here four months already - why wait until now?”

Stiles sighs, shoulders slumping. Every time it appears they are getting closer, more questions just get thrown in their face.

"At least there are no more bodies. That's a good thing, right?"

Stiles doesn't answer. In his opinion it's too quiet. Way too quiet. Since the mess last week there have been no more murders and it's given them precious time to recuperate. Half of that time was spent looking for Derek and interrogating Peter. Now they're floating, looking for their next lead.

"What do we do with the Alpha Pack?" Malia asks as they begin heading back through the woods to where he parked the jeep, "Kill them?"

"My dad says I'm not allowed to kill anyone else."

" _I'll_ kill them then. Where your dad can't find them - I like your dad."

"Scott doesn't approve of us killing people."

"Okay, so hypothetically…"

Stiles has no idea how Malia doesn't understand math, but can throw around words like 'hypothetically'. She's been hanging out with Lydia too much. "If we hypothetically killed them…" he argues, "...there would be a lot of blood. And we'd have to hide the bodies. And we have to talk about it when my dad isn't in earshot."

The once-coyote pouts, "Too much work," she decides, tripping slightly on a tree root. Stiles grabs her, holding her steady and looking around, trying to work out where they've wandered off to. The woodland pond and river is slightly to the north and the preserve spreads out around the. The trees are wide and spaced openly and it's familiar. Stiles tries to work out why it's familiar, and that's when he realises that this is near where he found Malia. He can still smell the faint scent of coyote, knows that if he heads south over that rise he gets to the road and the ravine and...

Malia stiffens, and moves forwards as if she's walking in a dream. Stiles doesn't know where she's heading until she crouches down and slips out of view into a small cave he hadn't even known was there. It's a den, he thinks. A coyote den.

Her den.

She ducks inside, and Stiles doesn't follow. It's too personal, too much of an intrusion beyond what he has already done into her life.

She emerges, pulling out something. Peering at it, he realises it's a jacket. Purple and dark blue, it's sized for a young child. A young girl, he realises, recognising the scent clinging to it, "This was mine," Malia holds it out with a weak grin, "It's a bit small now…"

"Yeah, well you're okay," he shrugs, "You stole my jacket. You understand there's a concept called lending and borrowing, right?"

She doesn't appear to even realise she had once worn Stiles' jacket after first transforming and never quite got around to giving it back. Stiles doesn't really mind, and rummaging around in his bag, he produces something for her.

"What is it?" she sniffs at it, "It smells like Isaac."

"I stole his scarf," Stiles shrugs, "It was ridiculously hot and for some reason he insisted on wearing it. So I took it from his locker and I thought you'd like it. You still get cold sometimes, don't you?"

"Wouldn't you?" she challenges, "If you'd just lost your fur coat?"

Stiles bites his lip, feeling awkward. The coyote den is highly scented and it makes his eyes sting slightly. He doesn't say anything. This was Malia's home for years.

She drops down, perching on a slab of rock and running her fingers over the jacket in her hands. The scarf she wraps around her neck. "I told my dad."

Stiles stares, trying to find some context to the sentence.

"About me being a coyote? I told him. That was about where he tried to get me admitted to a hospital."

Stiles sighs, because he should have tried to help. He should have been there, he feels so responsible for Malia sometimes. Well… that and the simple fact that Henry Tate is an asshole.

"Why do you smell like regret?"

"I should have helped," he admits, "My dad could have helped explain…"

She doesn't seem to understand. Malia doesn't understand a lot of things, "What is there to explain? He knows I'm a werecoyote. He barely believes me but…" she shrugs, "He paid for all the extra tutors. He gives me food and a bedroom that I use."

"Sometimes."

"When I'm not staying with you."

"When you're not staying with me."

"I like your dad. He understands in a way that I think my dad… can't. There are times when… when he looks at me and it's like I'm not his daughter. And maybe I'm not. I'm a shifter. He's not. My mom wasn't, nor was Felicia. Maybe he's not my real father."

Stiles leans over to her, grasping her hand, "Does that matter?" he asks, and she looks up, expression wide-eyed like a deer caught in the headlights, "He raised you. You love him. He loves you, enough to take you back and try to get to know you after so many years apart. And yes, it's going to be hard, and yes, you're right, he might not be genetically related to you but he's still your dad. And that has to mean something - right?"

She stares at him, and she looks a little more reassured. She doesn't reply, and he thinks she doesn't really want to. So she changes the subject in a way that only Malia can, by asking, "What does 'genetically' mean?"

 

"I thought you said you checked the woods."

"I did," Cora says through gritted teeth, "But nobody stays in one place for a week."

"Not quite a week. More like five days… okay, we'll look in the woods," Isaac doesn't dare argue with the she-wolf. Not when she has claws and fangs and a tongue sharp enough to match Stiles and Lydia in wit.

Erica glances at him, mouthing something that looks like 'whipped' but he doesn't look too closely, choosing instead to glare at the blonde and slip into pace behind the other werewolf.

He doesn't know how Erica is. She's quieter, more subdued since Boyd died. He thinks she'd be better if Derek even bothered to show his face, but instead he's hiding away, wallowing in grief and self-pity.

That's okay. Isaac and Erica can survive without him.

The blonde stays in step with him as they trail after Cora. Cora still wants to find her brother, no matter how much of a dick he's being. Because he's still her brother, and she doesn't have much family left. If Isaac was Cora he'd rather be looking for Derek than spending time with the crazy psychopathic uncle.

"I can't wait until the next full moon," Erica says as they wander through the woods, "I barely remember the last one - you had me chained down for most of it. Did you know the next full moon is a lunar eclipse? I wonder what happens during it?"

"Wouldn't that mean there is no moonlight?"

"Maybe we get stronger? Maybe control gets easier…" Erica's eyes flash gold as she tries to imagine it, then they fade almost instantly, "Boyd won't know," she whispers, "He wanted to… he wanted to feel it… to experience the eclipse with me…"

"I'm sorry," Isaac says, because what else is he supposed to say? He has to get this off his chest, "You two wouldn't have even been captured if I hadn't left you on that full moon to go and help Scott with the kanima, I would have been there and--"

"And you would have been captured too," Erica stops, forcing him to turn to look at her. She's glaring at him. Isaac quails, because he never expected her to be so hostile… "If you had been there, you would have been captured too and then who would have found us? No, you got us out in time, you saved my life and Cora's, so don't ever apologise."

Isaac doesn't know what to say. Erica huffs and flounces off. When Isaac turns to follow he almost walks straight into Cora.

"She's right," Cora says simply. Somehow all Hales have the ability to convey more with expressions than words. Except Peter, who Isaac thinks might be in love with his own voice.

"Is she?" he asks, feeling slightly lost, "I thought they were safe I mean… not even the hunters found the subway station but…" he stops, because maybe Erica's right. Maybe there was nothing he could do.

Cora just tilts her head, eyebrows furrowing, "Subway station?"

"Yeah," he tells her, "It was more like a disused warehouse - and let me tell you there are a stupidly high number of those around Beacon Hills; it's really not safe. Anyway - disused warehouse with a train line and a passenger train just parked there. I don't know where Derek found it but he… we used to train there. I think he might have lived there, but then again Stiles and Scott seem convinced he used to camp out in the old Hale House on the preserve."

"Sounds like Derek," Cora readily agrees, "So the loft is new?"

"Yeah - he got it after the other palce got compromised. It's a bit homier, but still a bit sparse. And… uh…" he rubs his neck nervously, missing the feel of soft wool under his skin. He couldn't find his scarf that morning, and it makes him twitch - he's used to having a scarf. It used to be to hide the bruises, but now it's more like armour. Finally he decides to just admit it, "I moved out of the loft."

It hurts less that he'd imagined it too. Cora just hums, "I wouldn't know. I never moved in."

"So where do you live?"

"Surprisingly, Allison offered me a room."

"Allison? _Argent_?"

"I know. It alarmed me too. Especially when Stiles sneaks in with her in the middle of the night smelling like wolfsbane. I think they forgot I was even there. Chris certainly does, he keeps turning around and jumping when he sees me, reaching for his gun and then stopping. It's hilarious."

Her tone is dry and Isaac can't help but crack a grin at the idea of bunking with hunters. He has no idea why Cora's doing it, but he guesses when it's a toss-up between staying with Lydia or Allison, he'd choose Allison as well. She's far less terrifying and considering he's heard stories about how Lydia and Peter roofied half the pack from beyond the grave, ironically staying with the hunter is probably safer for your health.

"So where are you staying? You're emancipated, right?"

"I moved in with Scott. His mother set up the spare room for me."

Cora is just nodding and looking surprised when there is a hiss from ahead of them, "Shhh!" Erica whispers, gesturing for them to stay down and sneak forwards. Moving forwards, Isaac stares quizzically at her.

"What's wrong…?" he sees what she's looking at, the figures moving through the trees and his claws slide out before he's even aware of it, "Are those the twins?"

Erica nods, "What do you think they're doing?" she asks.

Cora grins, unpleasantly, "Let's find out, shall we?" she asks, heading forwards, low to the ground. Isaac startles, exchanging a glance with Erica that is full of alarm, "Cora?" he calls after her, "Where are you going?"

Cora pauses half-way down the rise, holding up her arms as if to say 'well duh' "Following them, idiots."

"I can see that!" he hisses, "Why?"

"Because they're up to something and I don't trust them."

Erica meets his gaze and shrugs, "Well when you put it like that…"


	11. Wound

"What are you doing here?" she doesn't mean to be so unfriendly. But she still can't forget how Scott betrayed them all to Gerard. It still hurts, even if she's forgiven him.

"I heard about Gerard," he says and - oh - that makes sense. She steps aside, letting him into the condo, closing the door behind him and hovering as they stand awkwardly in the hallway, neither sure how to proceed.

"So why are you here… do you think I had something to do with it?" she laughs, "Scott, you can hear my heartbeat. I didn't kill my own grandfather."

It beats steady. True. Scott flinches, "I didn't think you did," he whispers, "I'm not accusing you. I just wanted to check how you were holding up."

"Oh." It feels stupid that she had jumped to conclusions. Her dad after all had turned up with the same thoughts pasted across his face. He'd been close. Closer than Scott, close enough to turn around and look to the spot where Stiles had been hanging out only moments before.

And now Allison is going to have to spend time with Stiles outside of premediated murder. Not like it's a hardship but she's already had Lydia accuse them of dating, she doesn't want Scott to do the same.

"I'm fine," she forces herself to say. And it's true - she is, "Great, actually. I never really knew him and I guess… in my head I already thought he was dead."

Scott nods, looking a little bit more relaxed, "I didn't think you would kill him," he tells her, his tone entirely serious, "I believe you're better than that. You're not your aunt."

No, Allison thinks, she's worse, and she feels just a tiny bit guilty for lying to Scott.

"The alpha pack scare me," Scott admits, "Don't they scare you too?"

"Yes," she says, "Lots of things scare me. But I'd be more scared doing nothing."

He sighs, and he's barely been in the same room as her for five minutes but he's already looking awkward, like he wants to leave. "It smells weird in here," he says, fishing for conversation.

"Oh, yeah, Stil-- That's probably Cora. She's staying here."

"How did you convince your dad to let that happen?"

"I guilt-tripped him. Told him how we'd already destroyed her one home… that sort of thing…"

Scott nods, looking impressed. Chris certainly wasn't, and Cora looked really wary about staying, but whatever bond she and Allison had started forming that other day obviously means she trusts Allison enough to accept the open offer of a room.

Staying with hunters is safer than staying where alphas might invade and rip you to pieces anyway.

"I should… I should go…" Scott says, sliding towards the door. She bites her lip and follows, wishing, hoping that soon things will be better between them. Less awkward… more how they used to be.

Scott doesn't even make it to the elevator. He's half-way there, Allison standing in the doorway when Scott stiffens, gazing like a pointer straight ahead. He's pressed the lift button already but even as the elevator dings, he spins around and throws himself back at Allison.

"Scott? What…?"

"Shh!" he bundles her through her own door and pulls it closed, "Pretend you've forgotten your key."

"I…" she can hear the elevator sliding open and with Scott still staring at her frantically, she tries in her calmest voice to mutter, "Dammit, where did I leave my keys…?"

The door has a spy-hole in it. Scott doesn't need to see, so Allison takes it, peering through to where the man standing in the elevator looks relaxed and at ease, not at all worried about the false stop. He's wearing dark glasses and--

Allison's breath catches in the back of her throat. She can't breathe, because it's _him_ , it's _Deucalion_ and he's right there, he's right fucking there--

Scott lays a hand on her wrist and that's all that stops her from leaping out and shooting the alpha werewolf right there and then.

The elevator door closes and Deucalion is gone. Allison slumps, mouth pressed closed and heart racing and she wonders how long before he won't hear them whispering to each other.

"He lives above you," Scott whispers, "All this time you were in France looking for him and he… he lives on floor above you."

"The penthouse…" Allison realises, and an idea occurs to her. It's stupid but…

Scott sees the look in her eyes, "Oh no," he shakes his head, "No, I don't like this…"

"Let's look around," she tells him, "And no backing out. When else are we going to get this opportunity?"

Scott curls his lip slightly in disgust, "This is what happens when you hang out with Stiles too often," he grumbles.

 

Stiles notices first. Because that's his thing. Scott and Derek are arguably stronger than him. He's quick, but Malia's the fastest. Almost all of the other wolves are better fighters than he is for all his knowledge of self-defence.

He gets the super senses. And not just super - too super for their own good. He hears the crack of footsteps and heartbeats half an hour before he sees them, and it's only because they're getting louder that he realises they're heading towards them.

Then he recognises the scent.

"What is it?" Malia asks, "What's wrong?"

"The twins," he says, "They're in the woods."

"Ethan and Aiden?"

"What other twins do you know?" he asks, loping slightly away from the coyote den to confirm they are heading up towards them, "I don't know what they're doing… wait, they're stopping…" he tilts his head, listening, "Uh oh."

He takes off without explaining to Malia, but he hears her following him regardless. He slides between the trees and then slows, approaching at a walking pace to where the two twins have spun defensively around; but not to face Stiles and Malia; to glare at Erica, Cora and Isaac.

"Were you following us?" one of the twins asks. Stiles thinks it's Aiden due to the aggressive tone.

"No," Isaac shakes his head, "We were just in the woods, hanging out. Like you."

"Dendrochronology," Stiles blurts out.

"What?" the twins jump, spinning around to where Stiles emerges from the trees, Malia a few metres behind him.

"We were meeting up to do some dendrochronology. You know - the study of trees. And bark. Tree bark."

"Was that a dog joke?"

"That would be a bit tasteless, wouldn't it?" Stiles curls his lip, glancing around at where every person in the clearing is a werewolf with the except of Malia who is still a were-something. He's still trying to work out how were-coyote happened. For all intents and purposes she's basically a wolf, except for the fact she had shifted into a coyote. Maybe she is a werewolf, just a young one with a faulty shift… that is if you could even call a full-shift faulty…

"Hi," Erica looks a little breathless as she slips around to stand with Stiles and Malia, "You okay?"

"Is that my scarf?" Isaac pauses to glance at Malia, hand going to his neck automatically.

"Uh… maybe?" Stiles shrugs. Isaac glares at him, "Oh, come on," Stiles bemoans, "It was a crime against fashion. At least, I'm sure Lydia would say something like that…"

"Were you seriously following them?" Malia has no tact, and gestures towards the twins.

Cora opens her mouth as if to agree and Isaac is forced to scoff, "Of course not. It's just coincidence."

"Is it?" Twin 2 - probably Ethan - settles his stance into something hostile with straightened legs and fists balled at his side, "Or were you trying to ambush us?"

"And do what?" Erica sneers, "We don't go around killing teenagers." The insinuation is heavy in her voice.

"Are they even teenagers?" Malia sounds sceptical, and there's this little growl that is beginning to erupt in the back of her throat. The twins are looking more and more annoyed.

"It would be easier if you just accept it," Aiden shrugs, "You can't stop us."

"We can't," Stiles shrugs, "But if you're not killing people, then what about the person who is?"

Aiden snarls. Ethan looks more cautious, but even his eyes are beginning to glow red.

"Do they look pissed off to you?" Cora whispers out of the side of her mouth to Malia.

Malia moves in the way, her expression frank in a way that usually suggests she is going to temporarily disregard the notion of tact. "They smell angry," she states, "They look angry, but I don't know why…"

"You should have seen them the other day," Isaac smirks, "They were seriously pissed off when we messed with their bikes."

"Pissed off kind of like that?" Stiles gestures at the twins who are--

He blinks. "Why are they taking their shirts off?"

Isaac falters, "Uh… not that sort of pissed off…"

And then Aiden plunges his hand down towards Ethan but instead of meeting flesh, his hand goes straight through and _merges_ …

"Oh, gross," Stiles says, turning away. Isaac watches, face growing paler and paler and… "Are they merging?" Stiles asks him. Isaac nods. "What happened to their pants?"

"Really? They're forming one super alpha and you're asking about their pants?"

"Do their pants merge too?"

"Uh…" Isaac looks startled by the thought, "They… kind of do. Wow. That's convenient. And awkward. I mean, I'm sure Danny enjoys them having to take their shirts off, but I… I really don't and…"

Ethan and Aiden roar. It's loud and sounds nothing like a wolf, but it sends chills through his bones.

 

So poking around the penthouse certainly isn't the worst plan they've ever come up with. Point one in their favour: there is nobody there. It's empty.

On the other hand: it's alarmingly normal.

"This must be the weird thing you scented," Allison realises, "The alphas are right about our heads."

"Why take the penthouse?" he frowns, looking around. It doesn't look like the den of a bunch of murderers. Or alpha werewolves. There's a sofa, smart furniture, lots of it looking ridiculously expensive. There is food in the cupboards and Allison stares at it for such a long moment that Scott's beginning to think she's contemplating lacing it all with wolfsbane.

That's not actually a bad idea, but there is no way the alphas will miss the fact they've been in their apartment. They'd probably throw all the food out on instinct anyway, might even retaliate and with the Argents and Cora just downstairs…

"Keep your friends close," Allison shrugs, "Enemies just downstairs. Or upstairs. It's dangerous for us, but it's just as dangerous for them. In a way it's ideal. We can't hurt them without fearing retribution, and they can't hurt us."

"Then we shouldn't tell anyone about this. Except maybe your dad. Because if I know Derek his first plan would be murder. Cut off the head of the snake and the body dies."

"This is a hydra," Allison says, critically, "They're all alphas - if you kill one head two more will just grow back. If Derek tries to take them on he's going to get us all killed."

"How are we meant to save them?" Scott asks, almost helplessly. Allison casts a confused glance at him and he elaborates, "Derek. His pack… he's practically ditched them and someone has to help them."

"Who says you have to be the one to save them?" she asks, her tone gentle and gaze caring and this… this is the Allison he fell in love with. The secretly shy girl who was too nervous to ask for a pen, the girl who panicked over running over a dog but still tried to do something about it.

"Who else is going to?"

"And that's what makes you so great, Scott McCall," she says, appearing to enjoy his shocked expression, "They're not even in your pack, but you still look out for them."

He smiles back, and it feels good. They feel good, and he's content. The tattoo on his arm doesn't hurt, but it's there, it's his and it's ringing itself around his arm, almost meeting except not quite. Allison is there, smiling at him shyly, and she's so close but--

His phone rings, interrupting the moment. He sighs, fishing out his phone and squinting at Isaac's name on the screen, "Isaac," he tells Allison answering it and putting it on speaker, "Isaac?" he asks, "What's wrong?"

Stiles' voice echoes slightly over speaker phone, "Stiles, sorry. Wait, does Isaac seriously only call you when something's wrong?"

"I just sort of assume these days," Scott mutters, disgruntled, "You need a new phone, dude."

"Nah. I like confusing the person on the other end of the line."

"STILES! LESS CHATTING MORE FIGHTING!" someone shouts over the line. Scott straightens and Allison's smile vanishes. There is a snarl and a hasty laugh as Stiles moves. It sounds like he drops the phone, but only for a moment because then his voice comes back down the line, stronger and there is a definite urgency to it.

"Uh… yah… we might need some help here…"

 

Stiles hangs up and throws the phone over to Isaac. It bounces off the fusion twin's head straight into the beta's hands. Isaac throws himself backwards, avoiding a swipe of those massive claws.

Malia should be helping.

By all extents and purposes she would be helping. The massive alpha might be super strong and almost impervious to damage, but against the five of them they should have had a clear advantage.

Except it's not just the twins.

Ennis is large and huge and he throws Malia half way across the clearing with one swipe. Spitting out dirt and leaf litter, Malia scrambles up, feeling the shift overtake her in a tingling of her skin and the pricking of her fangs against her lips. There's a high-pitched snarl and Erica lurches forwards towards Ennis, claws swiping out.

It's not just Ennis. The other she-wolf is there as well, kicking out with her toenails twisted into claws. Cora steps backwards to avoid them and now…

Now they're losing.

Stiles is still over next to Isaac, the pair harrying the twins successfully right up until one of the other alphas knocks Isaac away. The gold eyed beta lashes out but Kali catches his hand, twisting and Malia hears a pained whimper from Isaac as the bones in his wrist crack. She moves forwards to help, but the Fusion-twins get in the way, large and bulking.

Stiles snarls, eyes electric blue as he throws himself at them. His fighting style - if Malia can even call it that - is brutal.

He's fast, and efficient, losing most of his usual awkward clumsiness. He's also dangerous, just this side of cruel going for anything that would cripple a normal human. The super-twin he's fighting just shakes it off like a dog, hands lashing out and curling claws into Stiles' chest, lifting him up and throwing him aside like he weighs nothing. Stiles' back hits a tree and he slides down, the blue fading slightly from his eyes as he groans.

Malia steps forwards, but when the Fusion-twins turn to her she freezes, faltering.

There's a pained howl from somewhere. Erica is on the ground, Kali's leg on the other girl's chest, her claws digging in. Her hands are free to hold back Cora, a hand curled around the red-head's throat. Malia darts around the twins, hearing a sickening sound as they slide back into separate bodies. She doesn't turn to look, pausing where Stiles looks dazed, the back of his head bloody and his one arm twisted as if broken.

"Looks like we caught some betas out of their territory," Kali laughs, her claws pricking into Cora's skin. Isaac snarls, and over where Stiles and Malia are, they both flash blue eyes.

"And omegas," Ennis sneers at the pair, "They're not in Hale's pack."

"So let them go!" Cora spits out, "They mean nothing to Derek."

"But they mean something to Scott," Kali sneers.

"Scott?" Stiles bares his fangs, "Why do you want Scott?"

"Because," Kali laughs, "He's worth more to Deucalion than a broken beta and a coyote." She leans her weight down further on where Erica lies and the blonde lets out another pained howl.

"Let her go!" Isaac cries, "Just let her go!"

"Or you'll what?" Aiden laughs, "None of you are that intimidating!"

"No," someone says and there is a click, the sound Malia has learned to recognise as a shotgun pumping, "But I am."

Half a second later there is a bang and Aiden actually sways with the force of whatever it is that tears through his chest. He winces, but doesn't look half as pained as he could be. Nearby the girl that helped Malia and Isaac - Braeden - levels the gun at the other twin.

"Don't. Move," she says.

Malia tries to help Stiles, tugging him up but there isn't a lot either of them can do. Not when with a roar and a flash of red eyes, Derek lashes out at Kali. She drops Cora in the dirt and spins around, kicking out at him--

Derek catches her leg under his arm, and for a moment Kali freezes, just before Derek grabs her and spins.

She lands on all fours, snarling with her eyes overtaken by red. Cora scrambles to where Erica lies and Derek bares his teeth at the four alphas standing there.

Malia feels a rush of energy surge through her. Stiles would call it adrenaline, whatever that is. She feels the growl in the back of her throat because this? This is more of a fair fight.

So she doesn't understand why nobody moves. She doesn't get it when the four alphas freeze, or why Stiles takes half a step back, his fangs fading back to normal human teeth and his eyes flickering back to amber.

Then she hears it. Slow, steady footsteps heading their way, accompanied by a tapping of a stick or something on the soil.

"Finished?" a new voice chimes in, clear British accent ringing out, "Just listening to that was exhausting."

 

Erica is a mess beneath Cora's hands.

"Stay with me," she whispers, feeling Derek standing just behind her, tense and ready to move. Erica whimpers, and Cora presses down, trying to stave the blood flow. She siphons off what pain she can but there is so much…

"Derek. I don't believe we've had the pleasure yet… Kali tells me you look like your mother…"

"Don't talk about my mother."

"It's tragic, what happened," Deucalion's voice is soft and simpering, "Just tragic. But you're not the first to fall prey to hunters with vendettas."

"Do you want to kill me?" Derek asks with a snarl.

Deucalion laughs, "You really like I'm that boring? I'm not a sociopath like your uncle. I'm a man with far more vision than simple murder. In fact I'm here to show you just how much vision a blind man can have."

Cora can feel Derek move, sees him circling forwards out of the corner of her eye. Deucalion doesn't move. He stands there waiting. Watching.

It's all too clear who holds the power.

"I'm not going to kill any more of my pack," Derek says it like it's a promise, even though the words sound bitter. Tearing her gaze from Erica who they might already be losing, Cora takes in her brother. He's not meant to be alpha, she thinks. It should have been Laura but Derek…

He's doing his best, she realises, and he's not doing as badly as they think he is. Around him there are the straggled beginnings of a pack. Beneath her Erica's eyes drift closed, nearby Isaac has his claws curled into his palms so far they're almost drawing blood. Braeden still has her gun pointed at the alphas while Stiles and Malia huddle together on the edges, as if waiting…

And Cora…

Cora's home. She's finally home, she thinks. This is where she belongs.

"That's not a problem, I assure you," Deucalion says almost pleasantly, before he continues, "We can always do it for you."

"Why?" Cora spits out, speaking up for her brother, "Why kill your pack? They make you _stronger_ …"

"Oh I like her," Deucalion says, glancing over to where Cora crouches, "And I'm sure you've been taught, Miss Hale, that packs are stronger based on their individual parts. A weak part makes a weak pack. Strong parts makes a stronger pack. So I've sought out the best, the strongest parts to make my pack. You should be flattered, Derek, that I want you. Talia Hale's only son. All you have to do is… lose the baggage."

Derek growls, eyes flashing red, "They're not baggage," he snarls out, gaze drifting around to his three remaining betas.

"Surely you felt it," Deucalion grins, "Killing the one already made you more powerful… sorry… what was his name again?"

When Cora snarls it's like a cat, high pitched and full of fury. Her features twist with the shift until she's barely recognisable as human - animalistic and vicious.

"Careful," the alpha chides, "You should learnt to keep your betas on a leash. Two of them already have the wrong colour eyes."

Derek stops pacing. Slowly, a relaxed grin crosses his face and he turns, almost fully, putting his back to Deucalion. But it's not a weakness. Not when he looks towards where said blue-eyed betas are standing. He meets Stiles' gaze for a moment and for that moment Cora doesn't get it. She doesn't get why Derek is so relaxed-- " _My_ betas?" he asks with a laugh, shaking his head, and turning back to Deucalion. "Your plan has a flaw. A really _obvious_ flaw."

Deucalion cocks his head to one side, "And what's that?"

"You forgot one thing," Stiles growls out from where he stands, "Malia and I aren't in Derek's pack."

Cora and Stiles get three whole seconds to enjoy the way Deucalion's expression goes slack before in a flash of movement - Scott bowls into Kali, knocking her over half the clearing.

Kali leaps up, lashing back out and for a moment she and the beta tussle. Scott loses - he's not as strong or as skilled as her and with a slash of claws and a spray of blood he gets knocked back.

"Really?" Deucalion sounds amused, "That's your plan?"

"No," Scott lies sprawled in the dirt with deep gouges in his side but he still grins, "That's the distraction."

There is a whistling and a flash arrow flies overhead and explodes inches from one of the twin's necks.

"Your eyes!" Deucalion snaps into action, "Cover your eyes!"

Another arrow flares and Cora clenches her eyes closed, using her hearing to pin point where everyone is. There's another whistling and when she opens her eyes the twins are crouching, blinking blindly. And the other two--

Ennis reaches up, plucking an arrow of mid-air. He growls triumphantly, seconds before it explodes in his face.

It can't just be Allison, Cora thinks, there are too many arrows for that. It can't just be the huntress, but as another arrow flies straight across the clearing, missing the wolves by miles, she realises it doesn't matter.

There is another flare of light and suddenly Malia is there, "Come on!" the coyote hisses, "Let's get out of here!"

Cora helps Malia pull Erica's unconscious form up. She pauses to take in the scene they leave, Ennis lying writhing on the ground with black blood everywhere. Whatever Allison put in that explosive cocktail - it's certainly effective. Scott's standing next to Deucalion, and if Cora listens, she can hear what they're saying.

Their words ring in her ears. "Oh, Scott…" Deucalion practically molests the name, even as he backs away," We might be retreating, but I think we've already won this little battle, don't you?"

"Stay away from my friends."

"Your friends? Or your pack?" Deucalion looks around and hums, "Yes… I thought so.  So… are you going to rise to the occasion and take the alpha status to make it official?"

"I'm not like you. I don't have to kill people."

Deucalion curls his lip, stepping backwards and away, still having to have the parting shot. "Not yet."

 

"Where were you?" Isaac rounds on Derek, shouting as soon as they make it to where the cars are parked, "We're your betas! So where were you? You abandoned us!"

"I needed time to think!" Derek snaps through gritted teeth.

Allison appears through the trees, Lydia trailing after her, "That…" Lydia sounds pissed off, "Is the last time you give me one of your bows. Ever. Next time get me a gun."

"You don't know how to shoot a gun."

"Then teach. Me." Lydia comes to a halt in front of Derek, "Nice going there," she says, primly. Derek looks mildly affronted while Braeden just looks amused that he's being told off by a teenager.

"Good timing," Stiles is telling Scott, limping along next to Malia. Isaac glares at Derek for a few more seconds before turning and walking over to Scott as if he's making some sort of statement.

"You okay?" Scott asks.

Isaac nods, and Derek slumps slightly as if he's just lost something.

Cora is not surprised. She and Isaac might be Derek's betas, but at the moment they both feel more like Scott's.

"Well I'm not okay!" Stiles whines, "My arm isn't healing… ow!" he flinches away as Allison pokes it.

"I think it's dislocated," the huntress hums. Lydia glances over and nods her agreement.

"I can pop it back in," Isaac offers. Stiles takes a step back, "It's okay! I saw a video on YouTube."

"That's not a good idea," Allison shakes her head, "You could tear the muscle further."

"He's a werewolf," Lydia shrugs, "He'll heal."

"It's okay," Stiles moves over to Allison, as if hoping she'll protect him from Lydia's beady eyed knowledge, "I'll just ask Melissa for help…"

"Derek!" Cora finally gives up trying to find the bandages in the back of the SUV, "Derek! Over here!"

He drops down beside her, taking a few seconds to work out what is wrong.

"Erica?" Isaac freezes, gaze fixed on his friend, "No… please no…"

"She's breathing," Derek looks up at everyone, "But she… she needs a hospital."

"How bad is it?" Scott asks, voice thin.

Cora leans back, shaking her head because she doesn't want to admit it. She doesn't want to think…

She's already lost one friend recently. She can't lose another.


	12. Thread

Stiles fidgets next to him. The bus journey is already promising to be hellish, and with four fidgeting betas around him Scott finds his patience is already slipping along with his sanity.

"Maybe we should just kill him," Stiles laments, his fingers tapping restlessly against the bus seat, "Ethan is _right there._ If he's gone then no more fusion twins, no more strip shows…"

"You do realise he can hear you, right?" Scott arches one tired eyebrow.

His friend stares at the back of Ethan's head for a few more seconds, then spins around to where Isaac and Malia sit, "Do either of you want to rethink the plan where we just kill them?"

Malia raises her hand. Isaac just arches one eyebrow, "Has anyone ever told you that you have disturbingly loose morals for the child of a law enforcement officer?"

"No," Stiles shook his head, "So I take it that means you won't help?"

Scott groans, long and deep. In conveys his frustration in the fact that they're being dragged out here by their too enthusiastic Coach. It conveys the annoyance he feels in regards to his friends and enemies alike. It conveys his worry over the fight yesterday and what consequences it's going to have.

It conveys the pain in the gouges in his side that still feel like they're splitting him in two.

Stiles spins back around to him so quickly Scott's surprised he doesn't get whiplash. "Are you okay? I thought you healed…"

"It's from an alpha," Scott explains, "They are healing just… not quickly enough…"

His best friend hisses, fingers still tapping nervously; "I told you we shouldn't have gone on this trip… we should have stayed at Beacon Hills…"

"With the killer alphas and dark druid?" Malia leans forwards between the seats, then pauses, nose wrinkling, "You smell awful," she tells Scott, plainly.

"Yes, thank you, I'm aware of that, I've been sitting next to him for three hours already," Stiles leans away from Scott as if he could lean far enough away to reduce his super sniffer, or whatever stupid term Stiles is using for it nowadays.

"There are safety in numbers," Scott says, because that's true. There had been logic behind this decision after all.

"Also death in numbers," Cora leans over from the other side of the aisle where for the majority of the journey she has been curled up with music playing in her ears, curbing any of her homicidal tendencies towards the twin sitting near the front of the bus next to Danny.

Stiles nods in agreement, "Commonly called a massacre… bloodbath… carnage, slaughter, butchery…"

Scott feels like he's about to retch. Now Isaac leans forwards, and there is a brief moment in which he and Malia vie to be the one to stick their head through the middle of the seats. Isaac wins and Malia leans around the edge instead. "Okay, seriously you look half dead. Why aren't you healing?"

"You don't heal unless you want to…" Cora reaches over, her hand touching Scott. For a moment it's just hand holding, then with a gasp from Scott and Stiles flinching back, there is the dark murk of black running up her veins.

"Okay… what is that?" Stiles pulls a face, "That looks disgusting."

"She’s taking my pain,” Scott explains, “Deaton showed me how to do it…”

“And you didn’t tell me? Dude!”

Isaac wrinkled his nose from between the seats, “How does that even work?”

Cora shrugs, "It’s kind of like how people say animals make them feel better. Or touch. It's something we can do - we take pain then siphon it off into our system where we can heal it."

"So it's not actually healed?" Stiles asks, even as Scott cautiously peels up his shirt and then the bandage and-- "Great Scott," Stiles exclaims, but the joke dries up almost straight away, "That… is that supposed to be black?"

"I don't know…" Even Cora looks worried. "We should stop. Try and pull over…"

"Have you even met the guy at the front of the bus? Coach on a bus is not a good combination."

The five of them all pause to listen to their teacher shout at the poor carsick Jared, "Again?" he's expressing, "Every time… how do you even get on the bus? Look at me… no, don't look at me - look at the horizon. Keep your eyes… keep your eyes on the horizon…"

He was right - this is going to be the journey from hell.

 

Malia notices. Because Stiles is too busy trying not to notice. The scent of bitterness from Scott's wound is making him feel lightheaded. Never-mind Jared being sick, Stiles is more likely to be the one to vomit at this rate. Even their activity of checking Scott's knowledge of his 'word of the day' has dried up into silence.

"What's up with him?"

Malia's head appearing next to him makes him jump. Gritting his teeth he opens one eye to look at her, "Who?" he asks.

"Him." Malia jerks her head towards Danny and his maybe boyfriend. It's a disaster, Stiles thinks. They should have warned him away. Got Lydia to bribe him away, by pretending her 'ex-boyfriend' was single. Because Derek totally wouldn't have minded being used to lure a dangerous monster away from kind, helpful and stupidly attractive Danny. "He keeps texting someone," Malia says, "I hear that high little whine every time he gets a message and it's driving me nuts."

"Maybe Allison actually managed to kill Ennis," Stiles sounds hopeful, "I mean - that one arrow exploded in his face. Half his skin melted off and I'm pretty sure she mentioned to me that she was sticking wolfsbane in them."

"So they're texting him about Ennis?"

He shrugs, "Hang on - I'll check."

 _To Danny: Find out why Ethan keeps checking his phone._  
_To Stilinski: How do you have my number? And why do I have your number._

Stiles stares down in disgust. Danny didn't even say hello.

 _To Danny: Please?_  
To Stilinski: No.  
To Danny: Pretty please?

The texts go unanswered, and Stiles grits his teeth. Okay, it's time to start with the annoying.

He hands his phone to Malia, praying that his new phone comes out of it unscathed. "Go for it," he tells her. She blinks, then with a shrug starts typing. Malia has a way of typing in large capitals and sending one word at a time that Stiles finds baffling, but it makes it very amusing to listen to Danny's phone chiming every second or so.

 _To Danny: No BUT_  
To Danny: PleASe  
To Danny: iTs iMPORTANT  
To Danny: _L_  
To Danny: P  
To Danny: L  
To Danny: E  
To Danny: A  
To Danny: S  
To Danny: E  
To Danny: dAn  
To Danny: Nny  
To Stilinski: He's worried about a family friend who is injured. Happy?  
To Danny: You are a god among mortals.  
To Stilinski: I know. Now stop texting me.

"So Ennis…" Stiles relaxes only marginally, glancing at Cora, "He obviously isn't doing so good."

She doesn't appear to care. She keeps checking her own phone for updates from Derek who had been adamant they all got out of town.

"Hey..." Isaac leans over, "Do you think Erica will be okay?"

"Do I look like I know the answer to that?"

They fall into an awkward silence, broken only by Coach shouting something at a hapless Jared.

Stiles thinks Scott probably would probably be better at this reassurance thing that he is, if he wasn't looking like he was about to slip into a coma. Even Cora looks worried, leaning to see past Stiles to where Scott looks like he's about to fall asleep.

"We need to stop and take a look at his wound," Cora says, her voice low.

"Why are you looking at me?" Stiles flails a little, "Also - can you look at anybody without looking like you want to punch them in the face?"

Isaac leans forwards, "Everybody looks at you like they want to punch you in the face."

"Thanks. Really helpful, jerk."

"Make a plan," Cora says.

He sighs, dragging out his phone from Malia's sweaty paws, "I'm phoning Allison and Lydia."

Cora doesn't look impressed, "They're back in Beacon Hills. How are they going to help?"

He snorts, "They've been following us since we left - they're like three cars back," he glances over his shoulder to take in the dark Toyota Camry of Allison's still behind them, "Pathetic."

 

Derek sits outside the hospital feeling sick. He hates waiting like this, he hates sitting here while other people bustle around him, unaware of the danger looming on the horizon.

He hates sitting here while Erica lies in a hospital bed, pale and sickly.

She almost died.

"Why do you look like someone murdered your goldfish?"

He doesn't know why Braeden is still hanging out, nor why she sought him out from his recluse. But she did and she's here and she doesn't seem that sympathetic, but she's still a listening ear that he's willing to talk to.

They're on the same side in this. They're allies and he's starting to find that he trusts her. "Her parents are with her," Derek sounds guilty, "She hasn't seen them since she got the bite and went on the run. I didn't… I didn't even think about that when I bit her. I just thought that she would accept it - her epilepsy…"

"Luckily I've got you a cover story," Braeden hands a file of paper to him, "You were testing a potential cure for epilepsy. That's why she's better, and why she was gone for so long."

He stares at the papers, not knowing what to say. Should he thank her? He barely knows the mercenary girl, only knows that someone hired her to help them. And that she won't be around forever, because sooner or later she's going to leave in search of another job but for now…

The door to Erica's room opens and her parents file out. Her mother is smiling, tears in her eyes and her father holds the door for them, "She's awake," Mrs Reyes says, sounding thrilled, "She wants to see you."

Derek's in before they can change their minds. Erica is his beta after all.

She's pale, but she's still breathing. She looks like she did when he first found her, still recovering from her most recent seizure, “So that was awkward," she tries to smile, but it's faulty and shakes. Because she hasn't seen her parents in months. Not since Derek bit her.

Not since Derek ruined her life.

He shouldn't be here, he thinks, and he's about to turn to leave but Braeden is right behind him.

"I'm okay," Erica says, weakly, "It's healing. Slowly, but I'm healing."

Derek still doesn't know what to say.

"Wow," Erica laughs, "Stiles and Lydia were right - you're a grumpy werewolf, aren't you? So when they tell stories about you lurking in that old house in the woods… they're not making that up, are they? You didn't really live there, did you?"

"I rented a motel," Derek has got to stop these rumours, "Just because I never invited them over and they kept showing up at the old house like they were guaranteed to find me there does not mean I lived there."

"That's more like the Derek I know," Erica smirks, but it dies almost as soon as it blossoms, ""They're thinking about moving me," She doesn't need to specify who 'they' are.  Erica's lips curl with only a little bit of resentment, "I don't want to move."

Derek doesn't say anything. He's not exactly the best alpha around.

"After Boyd…" Erica says slowly, "I think they're right. I… I need a new start." She sounds sad, but there's a resolve in her voice that he hasn't heard in a long time.

But then he hasn't seen her in a long time. He hasn't seen her properly since she went missing four months ago.

He doesn't even really know her.

"If that's what you want…" he says, "Then I won't argue."

"I don't know what I want," Erica breathes out, "But I know one thing. Despite everything - the hunters, the alphas - I'm never going to regret getting the bite. And just… thank you. For asking me. Out of everyone, thank you for offering it to me."

 

"I'm getting too close… am I getting too close? I am getting way to close, aren't I?"

Lydia looks up, taking in the bright yellow rear end of the bus in front of them. Allison brakes just before she drives into the back of the bus for the fifth time, "That depends," she says lightly, "Are you following the bus or planning on mounting it at some point?"

"Are you saying I should back off?"

"Depends," she says again, "Back of the stalking the bus or back off stalking Scott?"

Allison rolls her head to shoot Lydia an exasperated look, "Would you really let any of that lot out of your sight after what just happened?"

Lydia considers it for a moment, "You have a point," she admits, "But did you have to bring me along on this little road trip?"

"Yes," Allison says, "There are five werewolves on that bus, I need a human friend."

"One - Malia is a werecoyote. And two - I'm pretty sure I'm not human."

"You're something," Allison shrugs, "We'll work it out."

Lydia just goes back to her theoretical physics textbook, picking up her blue highlighter when something occurs to her, "How long are you planning on keeping them literally in your sight?" she asks, "Because you're about to run out of gas."

"What?" Allison looks alarmed. "Oh no… ugh… we'll have to stop… I saw a rest stop sign about a mile back…"

"Which in this traffic we might just reach in about half an hour or so," Lydia sighs, "Great going, Allison."

Her friend's head hits the wheel of the car at the same moment her phone rings. For a moment there is a second in which the two girls try to determine whose phone it is, then a fumble as Lydia grabs for it.

"Hey Stiles," she says, then pauses, "How did you get a new phone and manage to program your number into my cell within a day?"

"I'm just that good," he says, over the line, "Put me on speaker."

"Sorry…" Lydia shakes her head for mock effect, "Yeah, we're just about to go into a movie with popcorn and…"

"I know you're right behind us - put me on speaker."

"He honestly scares me sometimes," Lydia rolls her eyes.

"I heard that!" Stiles snaps, "But I'm not the one who has been following us for the past three hours. It's pathetic."

"Do you have a reason for phoning?"

"Scott's not healing. He's still hurt and I actually think it's getting worse."

Allison pauses in trying to smash her head into the wheel of the car to turn to stare quizzically at the phone. "But… shouldn't he have healed by now? Even if it was an alpha…?"

"It's gone black. Cora's never seen anything like it. The rest of us have no idea."

"Why phone me? I don't have a PhD in lycanthropy, do I?" Lydia exchanges a wide-eyed panicked glance with her friend sitting next to her.

Isaac's voice echoes down the phone, "There's a jack-knifed tractor a few miles ahead. We could miss the meet so we wouldn't even be able to find a doctor."

"So there's a rest stop just down the road," Allison suggests, "Tell the coach to pull over."

"You think I haven't been trying? Have you met this guy?"

"Stiles, you're clever. Think of something." Lydia's voice is half a notch above tense. She hears Stiles' hiss of annoyance over the phone, then a curse and then the line cuts off.

 

"Jared, I'm warning you…" Coach levels Jared with an evil eye, "I'm an empathetic vomiter," he lies. Stiles hears the heartbeat, "You throw up, I'm gonna throw up right back on you. And it will be profoundly disgusting."

The poor kid sitting by the window just looks queasy. "Please don't talk about throwing up. It's not good."

Finstock shrugs, "I might throw up on you just to make a point, Jared."

If possible, the kid looks even more sick.

Stiles takes his chance, although in hindsight sliding forwards while Finstock is pissed off might not have been the best plan. "What do you want, Stilinski?"

"There's a rest stop about half a mile up. I was thinking we should stop, have a five minute bathroom break, grab some food…"

"What?" Finstock sounds disgusted, "No! We will make this meet if it is the last thing I do! A slight traffic jam? That's nothing? A minor tornado warning? We will continue driving. We will not stop, and we will certainly not rest at a stop!"

"We've been on this thing for like… three hours!" he whines.

"This is a small bus, Stilinski. Don't make me throw you off it and walk!"

At this rate Stiles thinks he would get there faster, "Coach, this is--"

Finstock whistles. It's loud and piercing and Stiles winces as if he's been hit. That was unessesary.

"You know our bladders--"

Another whistle.

"Can you--"

Another whistle. Stiles opens his mouth but with a grin, Finstock anticipates him and blows the whistle again. Stiles bares his teeth, feeling his fangs forming and he bites them back down--

"Please--"

Whistle.

"Let me _talk_!" he grits out, and on cue Coach blows that damn whistle. Stiles is going to crush that damn whistle, he's going to melt it in a fire, preferably the same fire he and Lydia are going to use when they finally carry out their plan to burn Peter.

Third time lucky. Maybe this time it will stick.

He's pretty sure he can't hear anything anymore either. It's not like the whistle was loud, but then again with Stiles' senses--

"Get back to your seat, Stilinski!"

"OKAY!" he thinks he might have shouted it, and feeling his fangs cut through his lip he spins around, catching sight of Isaac and Malia ducking out of view to hide their laughter.

Scott looks--

Scott looks worse. If possible. Cora has stolen his seat and she casts him a worried look, shaking her head slightly. Stiles needs to get them off the coach. He needs to--

Cora tilts her head to the side, and Stiles follows her gaze to where Jared sits. He turns back to her, frowning, and Cora mimes vomiting.

Cora might act like Derek, but she has Peter's sense of humour.

Stiles slides into a seat next to the poor sweating kid who is trying to furiously look at the horizon in the distance. He grins, and a little bit of fang must still be showing because Jared literally gulps.

"Hi Jared."

 

A minute later there is a visible lurch as the bus switches lanes into the one that will eventually lead to the rest stop.

"Huh," Allison says, "I wonder what he did?"

Lydia just shakes her head, "I don't want to know."

 

Everyone pours off the bus like it's contaminated.

"What did you do?" Allison asks, as Stiles exaggerates breathing for a moment. Then Isaac appears and he's doing the same and apparently _they weren't exaggerating._

"What I had to," Stiles says, "But please don't make me do that again, _please_."

"Where can we put him?" Cora and Malia limp up, Scott draped between them. Allison gasps - she hadn't realised he was so ill.

"Here…" Stiles takes him from Malia with instruction to - "Distract Coach, but don't let him leave without us."

Allison and Lydia follow Cora and Stiles as they half carry, half drag Scott to the bathroom. They drop him next to one of the sinks and it's eerie, Allison thinks, how the bathroom looks almost identical to the ones at the school.

Scott groans, his eyelashes fluttering but he can't even keep them open anymore. Carefully Cora peels away his shirt, unsticking the bandage--

Allison gags. The wounds clawed into his side are slightly raised, and they're black. It's like somebody has spilled ink over his skin, mixed it with blood and let it set, halfway into Scott's flesh. It's awful and messy and it doesn't look good.

"I don't get why it isn't healing," Cora straightens, exchanging a worried glance with them, "Even if it is from an alpha… I've never seen it look like that."

"He's healed from worse than this," Stiles shakes his head, "Maybe it's infected - should we call an ambulance?"

"We don't get infections," Cora curls her lip.

Lydia proposes an idea, "What if it's psychological?"

"You mean like psychosomatic?"

Lydia tilts her head, frowning at him, "Somatoformic," she corrects Stiles. He mouths the words, but clearly has gotten lost along the way, "A physical illness from a psychogenic cause." Stiles is still mouthing and Allison got lost a while ago, "Yes," Lydia states, "It's all in his head."

"Well how are we meant to fix his head?"

"Is it guilt?" Cora frowns, "Is he feeling guilty about anything?" she turns to look at where Scott's chest is faintly rising and falling, "The only reason wolves won't heal is because they don't want to or they can't."

"It's Scott," Stiles argues, "He feels guilty about everything. He'd feel guilty if someone's brother's sister in law's pet cat died."

"I've got an idea," Allison suggests, "We stitch him up. Let him believe he's healing and let his body do the rest." Everyone turns to look at her, "What? It might work."

Lydia nods, "I know. I'm just surprised you thought of it. Only one problem - I don't know how to stitch up wounds and I certainly don't carry around needles on me."

Stiles bounces on the balls of his feet, "There's a first aid kit in Allison's car," he suggests, "I can go get it."

"He'll need a new shirt," Cora realises, "And we need to stall Coach…"

"I know how to stitch up wounds," Allison nods, "My father taught me. Great, so… hopefully this works?" her voice rises into a question, conveying her worry.

"If you're not sure I… I know how to sew," Stiles shrugs. "It will be okay, I'm not squeamish anymore."

"Are you sure?" Allison looks concerned.

Stiles takes one long look at the wound on Scott's side, blanches and then nods, "Yeah, maybe I'll… I'll go grab that first aid kit and… help the girls… and Isaac..." he flees around the corner, leaving Allison kneeling there in front of a pale, feverish Scott.

"It will be okay," she whispers to him. She has to believe that. She has to stay hopeful…

"Here."

She jumps when Cora drops the first aid kit by her. The other wolf stares at her with worry as Allison's fumbling hands search for a needle and thread in the depths of the bandages and antiseptics. She grabs a lighter, flaring it up and Cora flinches back.

"Do you know what you're doing?"

Allison passes the needle through the fire. Once. Twice, "Yeah," she tries to ignore how her hands shake, "I… I'm sterilising the needle." She sucks on the piece of cotton, trying to make it as small and thin as possible. She sucks it again, holding it to the eye of the needle and trying to pass it through--

It knocks against the metal, bending out of shape. She sucks the cotton back again and holds it out, her hands shaking--

"Do you want me to do it?" Cora asks.

"NO!" she doesn't mean to shout, but it comes out as a snap. Cora doesn't flinch.

Allison's hands are still shaking.

"I can do this," she says, and she sounds stronger than she feels, "I can do this… Scott…" she looks to him, and his eyelids flicker as if he can hear her, "Come on…" she tries to thread the needle again, but the cotton slips past: millimetres out.

"Hey…" Cora whispers, "Just calm down."

"I can DO THIS!" Allison says, her voice fierce. Because she can. She signed up for this. She _wanted_ this, dammit. She wanted this life, there is no reason she should be panicking so much, her heart racing…

A hand rests on her, skin warm to the touch, "You know there's a term for when you have to navigate through two opposing forces? Two sides in a battle. Two enemies… and if you're careful you _can_ come out of the other side unharmed. It's called--"

"Threading the needle," Allison whispers, her voice breathy and weak and she hates it because she's not a little girl she's stronger than this… "I know. My dad said something similar."

The hand retracts, but Cora is still there, not trying to help, just watching with a slight frown on her face. "You know…" Cora says, "If our families hadn't been totally different… we might have grown up as friends."

Allison meets Cora's gaze. The auburn haired girl is right. They're the same age, they get on relatively well… the only reason they didn't grow up knowing each other was because Allison's family murdered Cora's.

"With all the family we've lost," she whispers, "I could use a few friends."

"So _thread_ the _needle_ ," Cora tells her.

And she does.

 

"What do you mean you're claustrophobic?"

"She used to live in the woods. In a coyote den. It was tragic. She's having flashbacks."

Malia just nods eagerly and Stiles feels a headache forming. This is the last time he's leaving Isaac and Malia to stall Coach.

He spots Allison and Cora limping out of the bathroom, Scott draped between them, "You okay?" he moves towards them, and Scott blinks at him, awake and breathing and--

"Yeah," Scott says with a grimace, "Allison patched me up. I didn't know she could do that - did you know she could do that?"

He's looking a little bit in love again. It's sickening but Stiles is too relieved to care. Lydia slides Scott's bag off Cora's shoulders, "The car's still out of gas," she tells Allison.

The hunter doesn't seem to care, "I'm not leaving him."

"Then we have to leave the car!" Lydia says, as if it's not even an option.

Allison didn't get that memo, "Sounds good," she says, as they begin heading back towards the bus. Lydia is left standing beside Stiles.

"What?" she sounds outraged. "That wasn't… an actual suggestion…" her voice trails off.

"You can always catch the bus," Stiles offers, "I think it's aired out by now."

She looks scornfully at him, but glancing once at Allison's back rolls his eyes, "Ah, screw it."

 

Stiles finds a new seat on the bus. Allison doesn't appear to want to let Scott out of her sight. Lydia slides in next to him and Isaac looks like he's falling asleep just behind them. Cora and Malia are the other side of the aisle. "So we have alpha werewolves against a dark druid," he sums up.

"Yeah," Lydia sounds like he feels, "A Darach."

"Great," Stiles sighs, "And to think I once complained that nothing ever happened in this town."

Coach does one of his rudimentary patrols up and down the bus that mostly consists of him shouting at Jared to look at the horizon. He pauses just behind them. "And what are you-- _McCall_! Why's your girlfriend on the bus?"

"Our car ran out of petrol," Allison shrugs, with a smile.

"You… you're not on the cross-country team!" Coach splutters.

"We aren't?" Allison looks alarmed, "Oh… well, I'm sure you can just drop us off at the next rest stop in… oh… another 50 miles or so."

Coach gapes at them, and then looks the bus which is half-empty anyway. "Oh… fine… Fine, who am I to abandon two teenagers on the side of the road?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That bit about the bathrooms looking identical to the school is BECAUSE THEY ARE. IT LOOKS LIKE THEY ACTUALLY USED THE SCHOOL BATHROOMS TO FILM THAT SCENE IN.
> 
> Some *ahem* extra information for you guys. I thought that was kind of cool.


	13. Motel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: There are a lot - the next two chapters following the events of Motel California. If you had issues with any of the episode content, then you might not want to read this. Content includes suicide, self-harm, a whole load of negative thoughts, some depression, some more suicide, forced vomiting… I think that's the worst. If anyone finds that stuff trigger-y, please don't read.

"OKAY, LISTEN UP!" Coach decides to bellow right in Stiles' ear. Their teacher has no sympathy for super-hearing, does he? He flinches, staring at the gloomy buildings in front of him. This definitely does not look like a cross-country club meet.

"Don't look so glum," Scott nudges his shoulder, "It could be worse."

"How?" Stiles asks, "How could it be worse?"

His friend looks hard pressed to answer that.

"The meet's been post-phoned! This is the closest motel with the most vacancies and the least amount of good judgement when it comes to accepting a bunch of degenerates like yourselves. Rooms of two! Don't do anything I wouldn't do, kids!"

"But Coach…" Danny snatches up a key with wide-eyes, "How are we meant to know what you would or wouldn't do?"

"Don't try and be clever with me Danny!" Finstock snaps, "And keep your hands to yourself!"

Stiles snatches one of the keys Finstock is holding, turning to Scott with a hopeful glance. His friend nods. Cora grabs another, latching onto Malia. Lydia and Allison do the same. Isaac makes to grab a key but Coach holds it out of his way, "Nu uh, where's your buddy?"

The blue-eyed werewolf realises with a sigh that Boyd isn't here. Isaac is alone, and for a moment he looks small, without the hulking form of this former pack mate behind him.

Then Scott latches onto him, "He's rooming with us," Scott declares.

"He is?" Stiles looks horrified.

"Yes," Scott says, "That's okay, right Coach?"

"It's either that or Greenberg," Stiles mutters. Coach hears and appears to take pity on Isaac, waving the three of them off. Isaac still looks peeved.

"What makes you think I want to room with you?" he says, sounding disgusted, "Okay, so Scott's okay but you…"

"What's wrong with me? I'll have you know I'm a wonderful person. Besides, you put up with me for lacrosse."

"That was before I knew you had murdered people!"

“Think positively," Scott pats Isaac's shoulder on his way past towards the motel. “You could have got Greenburg as a partner.”

They turn to watch Greenburg trip over thin air and fall into the bin, headfirst.

 

"The towels stink of nicotine," Lydia sighs "I grabbed some more from reception but they _all_ smell of nicotine!" Allison doesn't seem bothered - she's already stripped off her clothes, and her hair is still wet from the shower. She seems quite content to use the towels already in the room. "If you don't mind smelling like a smoker's hovel, that's fine but some people have standards, and is it too much to ask for fresh towels?"

"What the matter?" Allison asks, grabbing some clean clothes from her bag. Because Allison carries around bags of weapons and clean clothes and first aid and Lydia's willing to bet there's even food somewhere in that car of hers. She's just thankful she had thought enough in advance to throw her own overnight bag in the car upon Allison's declaration of a road-trip.

"You mean - what's the matter with me, or what's the matter with the town we live in?"

"You just seem tense."

Lydia sighs, trying to iron down the knots in her stomach. It doesn't work. "I think we're all a little tense," she tries to lighten the mood, "But I… I don't like this place. It makes me…" she doesn't even know. It sets her on edge and there's something else that's on the tip of her tongue…

Allison laughs, as she pulls on some jean shorts and a jumper, "I don't think the people who own this place like this place."

"The people who own this place have a little flip-down counter. Guess what's it counting?"

"Number of visitors?"

"Number of suicides in this motel. One hundred and ninety-eight guest suicides since this place opened… possibly even in this very room."

The towels stink of smoke - Allison doesn't care. The idea that people have killed themselves in this motel? Allison looks suddenly very pale, "198?" she frowns.

"And counting. We're talking 40 years. On average that's… 4.95 a year which is actually expected but still - who commemorates that with a framed number? Who _does_ that?"

Allison begins to towel her hair dry, worrying at her lip with her teeth, "And they were _all_ suicides?"

Lydia doesn't know how to make it any clearer, "Yes," she says, "Hanging, throat-cutting, pill-popping, both-barrels-of-a-shotgun- in-the-mouth suicides. Is that enough reason to not like this place?" She rubs at her arms and despite her denim jacket she's cold. A shudder runs through her and she feels like she's standing in a cemetery at night.

She feels like death.

_"Which… which one do you want?"_

She spins around, bright eyes scanning the room, "Did you hear that?" she asks.

She knows the answer already, but it's still condemning when Allison asks "Hear what?" Lydia's eyes close and she just feels colder.

_"One, two, then pull the trigger. I love you."_

_"I love you too."_

"Motel Glen Capri," Lydia whispers, the voices whispering and plotting and counting and-- she flinches at the sharp shattering of a gun that rips through the silence, "More like Motel Hell."

 

"Dibs on the bed," Stiles throws his bag on it as if to prove a point. Scott and Isaac look at each other, as if contemplating over arguing over the last one before with a shrug Scott just moves over to Stiles' bed.

"You can take it - Stiles and I have shared before."

"I bet you have," Isaac drawls, and Stiles chokes.

"What? No - not like that… and get your own bed, Scott."

Scott ignores his friend, dropping his bag on the floor and flopping down on the mattress with a sigh. It squeaks and there is a spring in his back, but it's better than nothing. His side aches, but it's not a bad ache. It's the ache of it healing. There is a flash of static as Isaac begins to scroll through the TV channels, but there's nothing but static.

"Can you put that off?" Stiles snipes, grabbing toothbrush and heading to the bathroom, "The static give me a headache."

Just for that Scott thinks that Isaac purposely scrolls through ten more channels before turning the power off.

"Four," Stiles announces from the bathroom.

"Four what?"

"Four suspects," Scott says tiredly. It's all Stiles has been talking about.

"I had ten… well… nine. Derek was on there twice."

"Derek isn't killing anyone."

Stiles shrugs, "I might get that now. So… five."

" _Five_? I thought you said four?" Scott's confused.

His friend pokes his head out of the bathroom from where his toothbrush is half in his mouth, "I can't remember how many new teachers we have. But they're all assholes, so… considering Harris…"

Isaac lifts his head from where's he's collapsed back onto the bed, "Didn't you kill Harris?"

Stiles nods, spitting out a mouthful of toothpaste, "He told Kate Argent how to burn down the Hale House. And then our principle was a geriatric psychopathic hunter. Oh, and Matt - I was right about Matt - he was totally a stalker and crazy."

Isaac flinches because - of course - he had been friends with Matt as a kid.

"You weren't serious about Matt," Scott corrects Stiles, "You just thought he was creepy."

"And he was. Murderously creepy. I don't joke about these things, Scott. Like - we have another new principle. I haven't run a background check on him yet--"

"You run background checks on our teachers?" Isaac blinks.

"Yeah. Did you know Coach once used to be an alcoholic?"

"Stiles--" Scott feels like he is whining, but his friend keeps going.

"We have the new English teacher - and isn't it a coincidence that she was at the school the same night Boyd died? She keeps giving us strange looks in class now. Did Argent tell her about us?”

“I think so…” Scott sounds uncertain, “I think most of it was need-to-know but he came up with some explanation.”

Stiles hums, accepting that, “Oh, and Braeden. Sure, Derek likes her, but she's a mercenary. It's weird that she turns up just when murders happen and she won't tell us who hired her."

Scott closes his eyes tiredly, "Is that it?" he asks.

Stiles is indignant, rinsing out his toothbrush, "What? No! I'm only getting started."

"So who are the others?"

"Deaton."

"Like… my boss?"

"No, I mean your boss. He and his sister - did you know our guidance councillor slash French teacher was his sister? Anyway - Allison and I saw her sneaking around with Deucalion. And Deaton knows way more than he's telling us. He knew all about druids, what's to say he isn't the dark druid himself? Especially with the whole Obi-Wan thing he's got going on."

Scott stares, blankly.

"Seriously?" Stiles throws up his hands in disgust, dropping his toothbrush in his bag and heading towards the door, "I wash my hands of you!" he shouts over his shoulder, "Makes me crazy!"

Isaac peers after him, "I wonder what his problem is?" he asks with a frown.

Scott thinks the issue is something to do with the fact he hasn't seen Star Wars. Stiles seems to treat it like a travesty, and Scott doesn't understand it at all. He's about to explain that to Isaac when his phone rings. He scrambles to grab it in time before it stops ringing, "Mom?" he asks, answering it. He's phoned her already explaining how the meet was delayed, he doesn't know why she's calling so late, "Hey, mom, what's up?"

_"Scott."_

That's all she says. Just his name and just like that he knows something is wrong.

"Mom? Mom, what is it, what's wrong… Mom!?"

_"I'm sorry," her voice shakes, "I'm so sorry… I couldn't do anything…"_

"Mom?" his voice is barely a whispers. Barely there, just a question waiting for an answer…

_"Hello, Scott."_

It's not his mom on the phone. Not the smooth, British tone. Not that suave, calm voice that sounds like he's imparting great wisdom all the time.

Scott's on his feet in seconds, "What do you want?" he snarls, "Let my mom go!"

 _"Now why would I want to do that?"_ Deucalion purrs over the phone, _"She's so… delectable… I might just eat her myself."_

"If you touch her--"

 _"One bite,"_ Deucalion whispers, _"That's all it would take. One bite and she stays younger, prettier, healthier… you could do that. All you need to do is take what is already yours."_

 _"Take what?"_ he asks, choking.

_"Take the power."_

"Scott?"

He spins around. Isaac is staring at him, looking puzzled. Scott blinks, his world shaking around him and in his hands his phone--

His phone isn't even in his hands. Isaac is staring at him and his phone--

His mom isn't in danger. It wasn't even real, he realises.

"Are you okay?" Isaac asks, frowning.

"Fine," Scott's voice is thin, "Just fine. I'm gonna… I'm gonna go get some air," he says, finding the tiny room claustrophobic suddenly.

"Do you want me to come with…?"

"Just STAY AWAY!" he snarls, almost clawing poor Isaac's eyes out. Isaac flinches back, staring at him. Feeling awkward suddenly, and guilty, Scott spins away, hating the look in the other werewolf's eyes. He pushes towards the door, but before he goes he still hears Isaac whisper a question after him.

"What's wrong with your eyes?"

 

"Lydia? What is it - Lydia…?”

"The couple in the room - they shot each other. Did you not hear it?"

"Hear what - Lydia, you're scaring me…"

She leaves the safety of their own motel room, moving along to the room next to theirs. Room 216 is closed, but expecting dead bodies or worse, Lydia turns the handle.

It's not locked. It moves easily open and Allison, still protesting, follows her as she steps into the room, blinking nervously and expecting to find dead bodies or blood everywhere--

There's nothing.

"I heard them," she whispers, staring at where the room is unfurnished, filled with work tools and white plastic sheeting, "I _swear_ I heard them. A guy and a girl, a couple, but they sounded young and they were right here. Talking about which gun to use, about how to do it… and then… bang…" She looks around, as if she might be able to spot a drop of blood somewhere hidden by the white plastic, "They were here. I know they were here."

A hand takes hers and she looks up to see Allison meeting her gaze, "I believe you," her friend says simply, "After everything we've been through: I believe you."

Lydia clenches Allison's hand like it's a tether, connecting her to solid ground, "There is something seriously wrong with this place," she says, trying to pretend that the wooden panelling at the back isn't screaming at her with wide, ghoul-like mouths stretched wide-- "We need to leave," she declares, "We need to get the others and leave. Please."

The little plea tacked onto the end seems to sway Allison and the huntress nods, "Okay. I don't know what's wrong, whether it's the suicides, or the whole thing with the Darach and Alphas and it's just stress or if this place is even haunted but… okay. We'll get out. I was on the phone to my dad - he'll come and pick us up if I ask him… Lydia?"

The red-head shakes her head away from seeing the screaming figures in the wooden panelling, "Maybe the couple actually made their suicide pact right here," she whispers, "Maybe that's why they're renovating - they've been scraping brain matter off the walls."

"How about we find out?" Allison suggests.

 

The air is warm and it doesn't help to clear his head. Not at all. If anything it just clouds it further until he can barely think for worrying. Is his mother okay? Is Deucalion going to come after her?

He should have stayed in Beacon Hills. He should have gotten Deaton to set up some sort of protection in the house.

Scott is so busy fretting he doesn't even notice the girls until he almost walks right into Allison who is heading down the stairs, "Woah!" she says, blinking at him, "Scott, are you okay?"

She's beautiful, Scott thinks. Really, really beautiful. He stares at her, breathing in her scent and it takes her shooting him a funny look to realise that he's taken too long to respond, "I miss you."

That's definitely not what he meant to say. She frowns at him, peering into his eyes and he breathes in her scent again as if starved for it, "Scott?" she frowns at him.

"Allison!" Lydia calls and Scott jolts as if stung. He staggers back from Allison, blinking at her as if he's only just seen her.

"Scott?" she asks again, "What is it?"

"Nothing," he says, staring at her. He shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts, "I don't remember," he whispers. There had been something, hadn't there? Some thought… some worry…

There's too much worry, he thinks. Too much stress and danger and he doesn't know what he's supposed to do.

When he looks up Allison is gone and Scott's heart is cold.

Why does it matter, he thinks, suddenly so, so tired. They could all be dead by the next full moon anyway.

 

One minute Stiles is fine.

He's standing in front of the vending machine, staring at his Reese's stuck half-way in, half-way out of the metal spiral. Is it worth it, he wonders, staring at the chocolate bar. His head is feeling fuzzy like it usually does around the full moon - maybe the rich sweetness might help.

He kicks the machine. That doesn't work. He grasps it slightly, wondering if rocking it will be any more effective.

It threatens to crush him and remembering statistics Stiles found once which stated more people were killed by vending machines than sharks, in a fit of rage he lashes out.

His fist flies through the glass. It wasn't intentional, although maybe it was. It's certainly easier. His hand shatters the transparent material, and it tinkles like falling rain to the bottom of the machine. He hisses; shards of glass stinging his hand and red, red blood welling up between the broken shards.

He staggers away from the machine feeling sick. Screw the peanut butter cups - he couldn't eat them if he wanted to. All he can taste is vomit in his mouth at the sight of the thick, red blood seeping out his arms.

The wounds heal straight away, the skin flawless beneath the blood. It's like he was never hurt to begin with if not for the crisscrossing lines of red across his arms.

He misses it. Misses the raw, hot pain. He scratches at his arms with blunt human nails, feeling the skin redden under them. For a moment there is a sting but then it fades. Gritting his teeth he scratches again, deeper, leaving red visible lines that were he a human they would stay.

He's not a human, Stiles thinks, and gritting his teeth he lets his nails thicken and extend into claws holding them there for a second before bringing them scoring down along his arms.

_"You miss it, don't you? You've gone **soft, haven't you?** Afraid of a little **blood** , Stiles?"_

He closes his eyes, clenches them tightly closed because he had thought this was gone. But the snide voice has an owner and even though he's pretty sure the owner isn't really here, it still sends shivers up his spine.

The others might trust him, allow him to walk around like nothing ever happened, allow him to play the sarcastic, good beta he isn't, but Stiles knows the truth.

He opens his eyes, meeting Peter's gaze. The other wolf's eyes are red, gleaming red, the same colour as the blood still running down Stiles' arms and dripping to the floor.

Peter's a monster, true, but Stiles is as well. Stiles' crimes are up there too in black and white.

And one day someone is going to have to put him down.

 _Or_ \-- and he clings to that ‘or’.

 _Or_ he can do it himself.

 _"If you cut vertically along the vein you'll lose blood faster,"_ Peter tells him as if they're back in the woods and he's teaching him how to fight, hunt, track and defend himself from hunters, _"they also can’t stitch that up. The key is nerves and organs - no wolf can grow back an arm or heart if you rip it out. Eventually we might be able to heal from paralysis but that takes time, and if your enemy can't use his legs that gives you more time to take them out."_

He claws at his hands, digging them in and in and--

_"Or you could always do that. Messy, but effective. Especially on pitiful, weak humans."_

Peter had never seen the point of humanity. Why should he when he had given into the animal? Humans were weak. Wolves were the next generation.

Peter always had seen the bite as a gift.

 ** _"Sometimes the people you care about can be the ones holding you back the most,"_** Peter's not physically there, but he's under Stiles' skin, in his head and Stiles just hopes if he claws deep enough he can get the monster out, _"You don't need Scott's morals, Allison's friendship or Lydia's approval. You're better than them. Smarter. More brilliant. I didn't pick **them** , Stiles, I picked **you**."_

He just claws deeper. The claws scrape down, and he can feel them meeting bone. Around them his skin slices easily, but the moment he lifts his hand, scattering blood everywhere he can feel the skin knitting together almost instantly.

"No **_no_** no…" he mutters, tearing through his skin again as he tries to get them to stick. There's blood everywhere, hot and thick and pumping out of the veins on his wrist but he doesn't even feel dizzy, just the hot rush of pain and thrill as his claws sink in again and again.

 _"That's it,"_ Peter murmurs in his ears, _"Don't you think it's right that the outside shall look like the inside does?"_

 

He half falls, half staggers back into their shared motel room. He has to get it off, he thinks, scrubbing furiously at his hands and the blood that pours over them. Oh god - he's Lady Macbeth. He's turning into Lady Macbeth, quite literally except he doesn't think he can even begin to mop up this spot...

"H-hisaac," he mumbles to the other wolf who must be somewhere in the room - he can hear his heartbeat. Isaac seemed unperturbed by the butchering of his name, too busy burrowing as far under the bed as he can.

"I'll be good," he whispers feverishly. Frantically, "I'll be good, please don't… I'm trying… please…"

Stiles is too busy in the bathroom, turning all the taps on. He looks up, meeting the werewolf blue eyes in the mirror.

They're his, but they’re not. Over his shoulder Peter snarls, his blue eyes burning brighter and brighter until they're alpha red. His jaw distends, further than it shoulder revealing a maw of fangs that clamp down--

Stiles clenches his eyes shut, takes a deep breath tries to control his breathing. It's like there's a full moon beaming down on him and Stiles has never had a problem with control. Scott had once spoken to him about 'his wolf' and 'the wolf' as if it was something inside him but Stiles never had that. It was just him with super senses and claws but now-- Now he can feel something raging inside of him. Something he just wants to let take over, wants to sink into oblivion and rip into any and all hot blooded things that wander across his path--

He wants to hunt, he realises, and with a snarl he opens up his wrists again, as if it might help.

It didn't one minute ago and it doesn't now. There's just more blood, hot and fresh and sickening in the warm air. It seeps into the water, staining it red and Stiles watches it run off until his skin is clean and unblemished again.

He can't even die right, he thinks.

His eyes flare, vivid azure blue. It's unnatural, he thinks. It's wrong.

 _"Just think,"_ Peter whispers, _"If you kill an alpha… they'll turn red. Then no more listening to Scott or Derek. No more sneaking around with hunters. You'd be in control, you'd be powerful. And… well… there are certainly plenty of alphas to choose from."_

Stiles wants him to shut up. He wants to whirl around and slice open the red-eyed Peter's throat but--

It wouldn't do anything. He's not there.

With a snarl Stiles dunks his head under the water, trying to drown him out.

 

"Was it me or was Scott acting weirdly?"

"The way I live, I don't try to apply logic to Scott or Stiles," Lydia says primly, drawing up short at the reception counter. It's closed down, shut for the night and the light off. "Oh great," Lydia throws up her hands, "Now I'm never going to know if what I heard was real or if it was really in my head."

"Just because it was in your head, doesn't mean it was not real," Allison says, determinedly, "Besides, something is going on in this hotel. Because that sign… you said it was on 198? Well now it's on 201."

Lydia feels her stomach plummet from under her as she looks at the flip numbers. Allison is right. Allison is right but Lydia knows it wasn't like that half an hour ago, "Three more suicides," she whispers, and in her head Stiles is talking about things happening in threes but that doesn't make sense because none of them are healers or guardians or philosophers but -- "Ancient people loved things in threes," she whispers and maybe it doesn't matter if they're not sacrifices. Maybe they're a warning.

Three what, though?

"We need to leave," Allison says, beginning to walk with quick, determine step towards the rest of the motel, "Where did Cora and Malia room?"

"Down here, I think," Lydia follows still thinking. Still running the numbers, the facts over and over in her brain. She knocks on the room number she remembers Cora having, and there's no answer, "Cora?" she calls, sure the other girl would be able to hear her, "Malia?"

There's an answer then; a feral and wild snarl. Allison pushes open the door, freezing at the sight of Malia, curled into a pile of blankets like--

Like a den, Lydia realises.

"Malia?" Allison asks, staring at the girl. Except--

She's not a girl. Not anymore.

"Not this again," Lydia breathes, staring at the grey fur of the coyote. Hackles raised, Malia looks ready to claw them to pieces at the slightest provocation. Malia flashes blue eyes and bares her teeth at them, but makes no move to attack them.

"Woah… Malia, it's me - Allison," the hunter tries to reassure her, hands low and stance non-threatening.

The coyote growls again, and Lydia flinches, "Malia?" she tries, and the blue eyes slide to her, "What's the matter with her?" Lydia whispers out of the side of her mouth to Allison, "She's practically feral. Even last time she… she could understand us."

"I don't know," Allison takes a step forwards, "Malia…"

The coyote lunges. Lydia staggers backwards and Allison is the one who ends up hard on the floor with a snarling fur ball going for her neck. Allison's hands come up to protect her face, grasping at the fur and shoving, pushing the beast off her. Coyotes aren't exactly heavy and it's easy for Allison to fling her back. The small coyote crashes against the heater, whines with a high-pitched, pained yowl and her whole form _shimmers_ \--

A human girl tumbles into the corner, choking for air and shaking violently, "Oh god," she says, staring with terrified eyes at Allison, "I almost… I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to… I didn't…"

"Malia?" Allison asks, checking the girl is herself and then shakes her head, "Woah, it's okay, it's _okay_. You weren't yourself, and it is okay…"

"No," Malia sobs, "It's not. I killed them."

"Killed who?" Lydia's breath hitches.

Malia chokes , burrowing further into the blankets in the corner as if tries hard enough she might manage to smother herself in them, "My mom and my sister… I killed them."

"Oh sweetie," Lydia breathes, shoulders slumping. Malia's eyes are brown and human and full of tears. Lydia ignores the girl's anger and fear, calmly grabbing a jacket she thinks is actually Stiles' and sliding it over the girl's bare shoulders, "You didn't mean to," she whispers, "It wasn't your fault."

Malia grasps the jacket like a lifeline, "I killed them," she says, earnestly. Her gaze passes from Lydia to Allison and back, "I know what my blue eyes mean."

"But," Lydia hums, "Stiles has them too."

"It was okay as a coyote," Malia shudders, "Animals don't feel emotions the same way humans do. But when I'm human it just… it all comes racing back."

"I didn't know you could still shift," Allison sounds amazed.

Malia laughs, bitter and still terrified, "Neither did I," she shakes her head, "I just… I felt ill. Cora went off somewhere muttering about fire and I… I was cold. And then I was a coyote and I felt awful. Like… like I was alone in the dark, and I'd never find the sun again," the girl shudders.

"Oh," Lydia realises, staring at the girl, "Three more," she turns to Allison, excitement tinging her voice, "It's wolves," she realises, "Shifters. Three _werewolves_ ," Lydia realises, "This isn't a sacrifice. This is a threat. A warning. Look at how much power I have, I can drive you to suicide." Her pale face meets Allison's brown eyes, "We need to find the others and get them out of here."


	14. Scream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings from the previous chapter still apply.

"Scott! Stiles! Isaac!" Allison practically tears her way towards the boys motel room and it's all Lydia can do to keep up with her friend, "Scott!"

They burst into the room which on first appearance looks empty. But there is a whimper, a plea of "it's a strip bolt, a strip bolt I'm sorry, please, I'm sorry…"

"Isaac?" Allison ducks down to look under the bed because she's the hunter and she's not afraid of the monsters under there, so it is Lydia who checks out the light in the bathroom. She half falls through the doorway, gaze fixed on where Stiles is hugging his knees to his chest, hair plastered to his face and his grey shirt a funny brown colour.

Not brown, Lydia realises suddenly. Red. Blood red.

"Oh my god," she chokes, hands flying to her mouth, "Stiles?" she whispers, expecting him to look up, feral and half-mad like Malia or--

He blinks at her, tired and sane. His nails are encrusted with blood and he's shaking like he has a fever, "I'm okay," he says, but his voice breaks on the last word.

"No you're not," Lydia whispers, feeling like sobbing, "None of us are."

He laughs, and there isn't a lick of humour in his voice, "No, you're right... that… that's a lie… there is nothing that's okay about this…"

"Guys!" Allison appears, freezes just like Lydia and her jaw drops open, "What happened?" she asks.

Stiles closes his eyes, shaking his head. He looks mildly drunk and he's also soaking wet for some reason. "Nightmare," he bites out, "Just didn't think they'd ever happen when I was awake."

"Something is affecting all the werewolves," Allison concludes.

Stiles curls his lip in scorn, "Yes," he says, blinking furiously, "I'm aware, thank you."

"Was that meant to be a pun?" Lydia looks unimpressed, and it's Allison who races forwards to where Stiles looks like he's about to keel over.

"Don't--" Stiles flinches back from her, clenching his eyes closed as a violent shudder wracks through his body, "Just mind the claws," Stiles warns, and Allison grabs hold of his arm above where she is out of reach of the curving claws Stiles seems unable to retract. She checks him over for injuries, but the blood doesn't appear to have a source. Maybe he's healed already, Lydia thinks.

"Are you okay?" Allison asks, peering with a worried expression at Stiles. He looks pale. Slightly clammy. He shakes his head.

"I'm great. Ignoring my waking hallucinations and living nightmares dancing in hellfire, I'm fantastic. How are you?"

"We just found Malia curled up trying to make a den. She was full coyote for a while," Lydia says, cautiously.

"It's not just her, is it?" Stiles says, sounding horrified, "Or me… or…"

As one, they all turn to where Isaac is buried under the bed, still muttering to his father as if the man is standing over him.

"How do we snap you out of it?" Allison whispers.

"I half-drowned myself," Stiles suggests.

Lydia nods slowly, "And Malia shifted when she fell on the heater. So… pain?"

Stiles' laugh is shaky, "Maybe not," he holds up his hands, still coated with blood. He's been clawing at himself, Lydia realises, over and over and--

"The bus has flares," she says, "That should snap Isaac out of it. I… You're coming back to our room and I'm going to clean you up."

Stiles seems taken aback by her commands, "I can take care of myself," he bites out, curling his lip in a cruel sneer but it really doesn't look intimidating from where he's still huddled on the floor.

Lydia's made her decision, "I'm not leaving you to claw yourself to pieces again."

Stiles really has no argument for that.

 

"Have you seen Scott?" Allison limps through the door to their room five minutes later, a flare in her hand, "I saw to Isaac - he and Malia are packing - we're going to meet them on the bus once we find the others."

"No… and I can't smell him either," Stiles still rubs at his arms like he's cold, or like he can feel the tendrils of blood on them. He's wearing a clean shirt and Lydia hovers as close to him as possible, trying to pretend she isn't worried.

"And Cora?" Lydia demands, "You're all practically possessed…" she grabs a bible from one of the drawers and shoves it at Stiles, "Someone: learn an exorcism, ASAP, before Scott or Cora appear trying to rip our throats out."

"Why target the werewolves though?" Stiles frowns, "We don't satisfy any of the requirements of the sacrifices."

Lydia and Allison exchange a glance, "We think it's a warning,” Lydia says slowly, “a _threat_ \- and to be honest, I'm too freaked out to really care. I know one thing though - that number in the office went up by three. We've already determined three is magically significant for some reason, I think we should take this as the warning it is." She's still holding the bible, clasped tightly in her fingers as if holding onto it might protect her somehow. Stiles' eyes drop down to it, and without warning he lurches towards her.

She steps backwards in alarm, but all he does is snatch the book from her, opening it to a page, "What is this?" he asks, pulling out a piece of paper. It's a newspaper cutting, Lydia realises.

"28 year old man hangs himself at the infamous Glen Capri," Stiles reads out, and Lydia grabs the bible back from him, flipping through it because that cutting is not the only one. Another falls out, and then another. They just keep coming and peering over their shoulders, Allison begins arranging them all on the bed.

"These two both mention room 217," Stiles spots, "That's this room, isn't it?"

"This is probably a record of all the suicides that happened in this very room," Allison realises, "That's morbid. Especially if every room has a bible…"

"Most places just leave a mint under the pillow," Stiles shrugs.

A thought occurs to Lydia, a terrible, horrible thought and she both wants to, and can't bear to check, but she suggests it anyway, "What if the room next door has one about the couple?"

"Couple?" Stiles asks, not knowing what they're talking about, "Wait…" his eyes focus in on one particular article and he grabs it from where Lydia is arranging them on the bed, "Look at this… Man shot himself with shotgun in Room 217 of the Glen Capri…"

"Yeah, another suicide," Allison says.

"No," Stiles splays his finger across the article and holds it out to her, his amber eyes horror struck, "Look at the name."

"What do you mean 'look at the--'" Allison freezes, catching sight of the curling printed letters.

Alexander Argent.

"1977," Lydia whispers, "He could have been a great uncle."

"It… it might not be my family…"

"How many Argents do you know?" Stiles asks, voice flat, "Besides…" he points out something else near the bottom of the page, "Mysterious bite mark found in his right side. I think we all know that means."

There is a loud noise from somewhere outside their room. It rips through the night air, purring ominously.

"Why does that sound like someone just turned on a handsaw?" Allison frowns.

Stiles chokes, "Handsaw?"

 

Cora smells fire.

It clings to her senses - the thick choking smell of smoke with the underlying bitter tang of wolfsbane. It sends her whole body into panic mode, and she thought she had gotten over this. She thought she had overcome her fear of fire.

And she wasn't even in the blaze. She wonders how Peter must have felt.

She can almost forgive him for killing Laura in his madness, although she's scared to ask and find out that it was just another calculated move on his part.

The fire on her skin sends her brain sliding towards madness. Towards the pull of moon, not even full but calling to her--

She longs to run, run like she had done that awful day, run and run and never look back--

But then she opens her eyes and she's right back where she started, staring at the motel. Staring at the dark buildings, the flickering lights of the reception barely on in the night-time.

Just like the fire, she thinks.

So like that night, that terrible, life-changing night: she turns around and runs.

 

The door to room 216 crashes open, Stiles snapping the lock with werewolf strength. He trips in, and Allison and Lydia follow. They get about two seconds to take in the sight of Ethan of all people, bringing a handsaw down towards his stomach as if he plans to disembowel himself.

Stiles doesn't feel particularly inclined to help him, but Allison is lunging forwards and Ethan almost knocks her back with alpha strength before Stiles gets there, latching onto one of his arms and forcing him back, "Ethan - don't!" he snarls, wrenching the machine tool out of his grip. The alpha werewolf staggers back, barely appearing to register their presence as with a snarl, he extends his claws and tries to bring them down on his chest just like Stiles had done to his arms half an hour before.

"No!" Allison tries to tug his grip back. The werewolf is stronger than her though, and with a growl he brings his hand back to punch her away--

There is a hiss and the searing smell of burning flesh and Ethan howls, arms going limp. Allison staggers away and Ethan spins around to where Lydia stands holding a burning flare.

The three of them stand around, seeing the moment Ethan snaps back to himself, "What the hell?" he demands, looking like he's seconds away from shifting fully, "What are you doing?"

"Saving your life," Lydia spits the phrase as if she's always wanted to do that. Stiles bets she's just been waiting for an opportunity.

"You almost cut yourself open with a handsaw," Allison kicks the off button to said handsaw, and the dull roar dies, "You're welcome."

Ethan looks rightfully freaked out, "You drugged me!" he shouts, storming towards the door.

"Really?" Stiles drawls, trailing after, "That's what you come up with?"

"What else explains that?"

"Well whatever happy drugs you were riding, I had that trip and let me tell you - it's not safe to sample the merchandise. It's a head trip."

Ethan pauses for a moment, then turns down the stairs as if he couldn't care less about it, "I don't know how I got there!" he snaps.

Allison peers over the railing, calling down: "Not even a little bit? We did just save your life you know, you could at least try to help us!"

"Next time," Ethan snaps up to them, "Don't bother!" and he vanishes into the darkness of the motel.

"Friendly," Stiles throws up his hands in exasperation. At least that's one less werewolf to worry about, he supposes. That just leaves Cora and Scott, "He has a point though," Stiles frowns, "About the drugging… you  know what it's like?" Stiles asks, "It's like that night at Lydia's party with the wolfsbane."

Lydia frowns, "Wolfsbane's highly toxic," she lectures, "How did someone poison just the werewolves and none of the rest of us?"

"There are different strains," Allison offers up cautiously, "Different concoctions. The Chinese use aconite in herbal remedies but they have a component to neutralise the poison so it has no harmful effects. So maybe if it is wolfsbane, it's a variety that means nobody else is affected or dancing the magic mushroom rollercoaster - it must be a very small amount. Just enough to trigger a reaction in you guys. A bad reaction. I… I'm going to go look for Scott. You two look for Cora. We need to leave as soon as possible."

Lydia stares after her friend, "I've been saying that since we got here and yet we're still here." She turns around, and Stiles can't look away quickly enough from where he's staring at her suspiciously. Lydia freezes, narrowing her eyes at him. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like that."

He sighs, rolling his head and trying to look anywhere but at Lydia. She's staring at him almost fearfully, denim jacket curled around her hands. There's a spot of blood on it, he realises, and it must be his own that he accidentally brushed against her.

"Stiles?" it's a plea that turns into a question.

"Okay, so…" he doesn't know how to say this, "You did the thing with wolfsbane last time… Were you… I mean did you know you were doing it?"

She tilts her head, "Somewhat," she shrugs, then realises what he's saying; "I didn't drug everyone with wolfsbane!"

"I'm not saying that! I just… you found that body and…"

Fear and caution grows into anger and this is how he prefers Lydia, brave and fierce, a little spitfire, not meek and terrified of something only she can hear, "You think there's a link between the sacrifices and I, don't you?" she accuses, "Do you think I'm killing them too? Stiles!" she sounds almost ashamed of him.

"I don't think you're killing anybody. For one - you're not a dark druid. Two - I know your scent. You weren't near any of the bodies, except that one guy by the pool who you found. And you might be evil… like 60%... Maybe 40% on a good day, but I don't think you're that evil. You wouldn't want to get blood on your perfectly manicured nails or sweet strawberry blonde hair." His tone is mocking, but there is no cruel edge to it. He can be cruel, Lydia knows, but now he's just teasing her, "The one question is - why is it death?"

"What?" she looks up, lips pale at where Stiles is frowning at her.

"You brought Peter back from the dead. You find dead bodies. You can hear the whispers of the dead… it's a link to death, you, Lydia, are a link to death."

She shakes her head, not knowing what to say, "But what does that mean?"

"Does it matter?" he shrugs, "Do you need a name to put to it? Death caller."

"No," her voice is stern. She does not want to be mocked, thank you very much.

"Oh come on…"

"No," she spins around, turning to go.

"Supernatural death detector…"

"Why are you doing this to me, Stilinski?"

 

"Are you okay?"

It's a stupid question. A really, really stupid question given the circumstances.

"No," Malia answers it anyway, coarse and wild as she is, "No, I'm really not okay. I just found myself back as a coyote which should be a joy but it wasn't - it was a nightmare."

"A joy?" he stares at her, "How is being a coyote a joy?"

She shrugs, lips pressed tightly together, "It's easier," she says, as if that explains it all, "Being human is hard."

Isaac laughs because if anything he knows that much. It applies, even to them. Being a werewolf - might not be easy but once you get the hang of it - it's not that bad. Being a werewolf is easy - being a human though?

Staying human… that's hard. Finding that line that cuts between human and monster even as something monstrous himself it's the most difficult thing he's ever done, but Isaac can just count himself lucky that he's had his friends to help him.

There are loud footsteps in the doorway and Allison appears, hair wild around her face. "Have you seen Scott?" She hovers in the doorway to where Malia and Isaac are stuffing their clothes and from the looks of it - Stiles' and Scott's - back into bags. None of them want to hang around in particular and Cora and Malia's bags are already packed by the door.

"No," Isaac frowns, "That's the second time you've asked me that."

"The first time you were incoherent," Allison shrugs, "Okay, can you smell him? Hear him?"

Isaac shakes his head, "I don't have Stiles' super senses!" his heart races, and he drops his bag, heading towards Allison to help her search for Scott. He'd never forgive himself if he let Scott get himself hurt from something they can't control.

"Wait--" Malia stiffens behind him, "I smell something… it's not Scott… it's…" she frowns, "Kerosene?"

Allison freezes, then whirls away, "Look after each other!" she yells, and now Isaac can't even follow, he just stands there staring at the place where the huntress had been standing.

"Why do I always get left looking after people?" he asks the ceiling mournfully.

 

"Do you hear that?" Lydia whispers, but from the tone of her voice it's like she already knows Stiles can't. Her head is cocked to one side, listening to… something.

"What does it sound like?" he asks. He knows she's not making this up. She's not ill. Lydia is really hearing something.

"I hear…. I hear water running," she whispers, "Oh my god…" she stumbles straight back into Stiles' arms, "She's drowning the baby," she whispers, "She's drowning the…" she shakes in his arms, "Oh my god…"

"It's okay," he says, "Lydia, it is _okay_ …"

"Why do I hear these things?" she whispers, sounding terrified.

Stiles doesn't know the answer to that but at that moment there is a howl. They both spin to one side.

"Cora!"

They round the corner, Stiles going first as they burst into Malia and Cora's vacated motel room. The main room is empty but the bathroom--

"Cora!" Stiles is faster than Lydia, and he rushes in. Cora whirls around, snarling at him but backing down almost instantly.

"Stiles?" she says around her fangs, "What's wrong?"

Lydia appears, arms circling wildly to keep her balance and she and Stiles stare at Cora.

Cora who isn't sick. Cora who looks totally normal.

Except she's not, Stiles realises. There are beads of sweat on her forehead and she's shivering, "Cora?" he asks cautiously, "Have you felt… unwell… suicidal…?"

"Stiles!"

"What?"

Cora's frowning at them, "Not… exactly…" she blinks, swallowing, "I was going to run away," she admits, and then sounds surprised that she just did so. She laughs, violently, then spins around grasping for the sink, retching.

"Woah!" Stiles moves forwards to help, but Cora waves him away.

"I'm good," she mutters, "I… I'm good. I mean - I wasn't. I wasn't and I was going to leave. I got as far as the road and then I just…" she looks up, gold flaring in her eyes and she looks really confused, "I couldn't even remember why I left. It was like… like there wasn't a point. So I turned around and came back, but now I feel sick and--" she pauses to cough violently.

"You should be sick," Lydia suggests, "Vomit. Puke it up. We think all the wolves have been poisoned with wolfsbane so the quicker you get it out your system…"

Cora wrinkles her nose, "This is going to be messy," she says, cracking her jaw and looking seconds away from reaching down her throat. Stiles makes a pathetic squeaking sound and flinches away, just as Cora sticks two fingers down her throats with an awful gagging noise.

She's right - it is messy.

"Do you feel better?" Stiles asks as they help Cora outside to the bus, contemplating doing the same. He still feels queasy but ingesting half a sink of water helped lessen his desire to claw his own skin off.

"No," Cora looks drunk now. She totters slightly, but refuses Lydia's help, stubbornly walking without aid, right up until she reaches the corner whereupon she flinches back, pupils flaring wide.

Stiles stops instantly. "Cora? What's the matter?"

She shakes her head violently, "Can't you smell it?" she tells them, eyes wide and choking, "Can't you smell the fire?"

"No," Lydia shakes her head, but Stiles freezes, head lifting slightly to scent the air.

"Yes," he says, "Yeah… I can… fu--" and he can't worry about Cora, not now because she's right. He can smell fire, but that's not all he can smell.

He can smell Scott.

 

Stiles vanishes in a whirlwind of limbs and Lydia is left staring at a traumatised Cora.

Traumatised, she realises, but not drugged out of her mind. Not yet.

"Go," Cora says, "I don't want to be anywhere near it--" and she shudders violently.

That's all Lydia needs to follow after her friend, rounding the corner and appearing near the bottom of the stairs - the bus and courtyard in front of them and in the courtyard--

In the courtyard Scott stands, Allison pleading, "Scott…" at him. Stiles is moving slowly forwards, as if in a dream and Scott turns from Allison to Stiles and back.

"No," he shakes his head, "Why bother? There's no hope."

"What do you mean?" Allison whispers, and Lydia inches closer, "There's always hope!"

"Not for me. Not for us. Not for any of us."

And that's when Lydia realises Scott is wet. But not with rain or water. With something fluid and oily, sliding down his hair and shoulders and pooling in a wet puddle by his feet.

A flare burns in Scott's hands - and that must be what Cora could smell. Lydia wonders how long it's been burning. Flares don't burn that long, do they? She tries to count, tries to work it out but for once her mind fails her. All she can see is Scott, standing there, shoulders slumped dejectedly.

"This isn't you, Scott," Stiles says gently but firmly.

"It is," Scott whispers, "I try. I try, I really, really do but people around me just keep getting hurt. I can't stop it… none of us can… it's inevitable…"

Lydia thought the idea of an alpha pack was scary. She thought Peter Hale haunting her dreams was terrifying.

But the scariest thing by far is encountering a Scott McCall who has lost hope.

"We work together. Like always," Stiles sounds earnest. Like he's telling the truth, like it's not a lie at it's very core.

"Always?" Scott asks, voice so dejected and lacking in optimism it makes Lydia want to cry, "Like we did with Peter? Like we did with Gerard?" Scott swallows, and the flare burns that little bit lower, sparking slightly. Lydia's heart is in her mouth, "We're just a bunch of stupid teenagers. We can't handle this - we never could. We have no choice… no options… we're nobodies. We're nothing, what have we done? We've just made things worse, and we're just going to keep making things worse if we don't do something now."

There is a low growl. For a moment Lydia thinks it is in her head, and that's when she realises it's Stiles. Stiles is glaring at Scott. "You think death is the answer?" Stiles snarls, and she thinks he's going about this the wrong way. Stiles looks seconds away from leaping at Scott and with the flare still in Scott's hands… " _Fuck you_!" Stiles snaps, "That's the cowards way out. That's the easy way. If you want to abandon us all then fine, fine, okay? Leave us. See death doesn't happen to you, Scott! It happens to everyone around you. To all the people left standing at your funeral, trying to figure out how they're gonna live the rest of their lives now without you in it? And I…" the anger leaves his tone suddenly, and his voice breaks, "I can't do this without you, Scott. Everything I've done, it's been for you. It's always been you. You and I, right from the beginning, right from when I dragged us into the woods, looking for a dead body."

His voice shatters. Scott stares, his gaze mournful and broken and the flare burns a little brighter--

"Don't do this, Scott. I can't lose you. You're my best friend… you're my brother… so if you really want to end this, then you have to do it how we started this. Together."

She knows the second before he steps forwards that he's going to do it. Because it's just the sort of idiotic thing Stiles would do. But then he does it and he's standing there, reaching for the flare, prying it out of Scott's cold, stiff hands--

Stiles throws it aside. Lydia releases a breath she didn't know she's been holding, staring at Scott and Stiles standing there in the puddle of flammable liquid, hands pressed together and gazes locked together. Allison drops her head to her hands, taking deep breathes and maybe that's why Lydia's the only one who sees.

Or maybe it's the voice in her head, but Lydia tries not to think about the scream building in her throat, the whispers on the wind. Instead she turns, looking to where the flare is steadily, gently rolling back towards them.

Lydia didn't know she could move that fast. She certainly doesn't remember moving, only that one moment she is standing there, watching in horror, the next she is a small cannonball colliding with the two werewolves.

Allison leaps after her away from the pool of flammable liquid. Lydia crashes down on top of the two boys, seconds before the flare catches light.

It explodes. It's bright and hot and Lydia turns to see it burning, turns to see the ball of flames flare higher, brighter than they should--

There's a shadow within them, she thinks. A shadow and a twisted, scarred face and one second it is there and the next it's gone, an echo of power, like the melted dog tag, like the animals…

A reflection of the Darach.

Scott rolls away, still coated in kerosene and sobbing for breath. Lydia feels Stiles support her, dragging them both up as he checks her over.

"Thanks," Stiles says, a little breathless, "I think you saved our lives."

She smiles weakly at him, "Now can we finally get out of here?"

 

They have crinks in their neck from sleeping on the bus, but at least they're alive. Scott rubs his eyes, Stiles takes the hoodie he's been sleeping on out from under his head, Allison brushes hair out of her face and Lydia just leans back and closes her eyes, wishing she was still asleep. Coach stares at them all, Malia, Isaac and Cora barely visible in the back seats, collapsed in a pile of clothes and bags. "I don't want to know. I really don't want to know. I'm not even going to bother asking anymore," he says, blinking once and turning to let the rest of the students on board, "Meet's cancelled. We're heading home. Budge over, kids!"

"Well that was a waste of time," Cora remarks, as they begin to vacate the seats they slept in for seats to now sit in as the other students file in.

He's walking down the bus when Lydia sees it. Ethan just spat out a half-hearted apology to Scott, and just to be protective, Isaac is now sitting next to him. Lydia slides out of her seat next to Allison, and Coach stops abruptly in front of her. She can't tear her gaze away from the black staining his white shirt. "Coach, can I borrow your whistle for a second?" It's not really a question, especially when she takes it off his head regardless of whatever his spluttered reply was. She slides across to where Stiles is frowning at her, putting the whistle to her mouth, cupping her hand over it and blowing.

"Lydia?" Stiles frowns, "What is it?"

She wordlessly holds up her hand, stained black, "You were right," she whispers, "Someone put wolfsbane in Coach's whistle." She pokes it with her finger, then touches her lip, "It's not toxic," she says with a frown, "Otherwise Coach would have died from blowing it yesterday…"

"Whistles don't even work that way--" Stiles splutters, "How… what… never mind," he grabs it, and Lydia ducks his flailing limbs as he opens the window, throwing it out much to their teacher's dismay as the bus begins to move.

“You owe me a new whistle, Stilinski!”

Lydia ignores him, gaze fixed on Stiles in horror. "It was the Darach. This whole thing… it was a warning. The alphas are a physical threat but the druid? He can get inside our heads."

"Not just our heads," Stiles slumps down, looking shaken, "Our school. Our town… all those animals acting weirdly makes sense now," Stiles says, "They get out of town before disaster hits. Except this… this wasn't the alpha pack. It was the Darach. And she even got to us while we were hundreds of miles away from Beacon Hills."

Lydia grabs his hand, and for a moment he seems surprised, "So we do something," she says, "They dragged us into it… we make them regret it."

"We need to find out what you are. It might help stop whatever is killing these people."

She rolls her head back onto the seat with a sigh, "I might know someone," she tells him, and she doesn't look at him on purpose. She doesn't want to see the moment his eyes flash blue or his whole body tenses.

"I hate that guy."

"I know."

"It's not safe."

"What's the worst that could happen?" Lydia huffs, getting annoyed at his overprotective streak.

"Do you really want me to answer that?" he raises one eyebrow, "And I'm serious. If you get hurt… I… I'll be devastated. Even after everything I still think I'd go out of my freaking mind if you died. If Scott or Allison or Malia…" he looks at her as if he can get the point across through an emotion filled gaze. It just makes Lydia want to close her eyes so she doesn't have to see the raw emotion.

This trip hasn't been good for them. It hasn't been good for any of them.

If anything it's made things worse. She hasn't seen Stiles this broken down since he limped away half-mad from a dead alpha and a fire she'd helped to start.

"I'll take Allison with me," she promises him, "And Malia."

He looks happier, and she feels somewhat relieved. "We'll have a party in the spring break," Stiles decides, "It should be a 'we're not dead yet' party, and we should celebrate everyone who makes it there."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I re-watched the episode - Alexander Argent did actually commit suicide in room 217 which is the room Allison and Lydia stayed in. You can see it at the beginning of the episode when he unlocks the door. I'm amazed that they didn't spot that in the articles - I'd assumed it was because he was staying in a different room. So I was going to twist the truth so they could notice it, and it turns out I didn't even need to.
> 
> On the other hand the date was 1977 and it is stated Deucalion bit him. Which means Deucalion must be about in his late forties and he wasn't a good guy even before Gerard burnt his eyes out with a flare arrow. I mean, maybe he was a young alpha and fighting for his life against the hunter, but still, Gerard had some motive behind his attack on the wolves - Deucalion bit his brother. (Alexander is too young to be Gerard's father considering Chris would be born around this time. Also Chris calls him 'my Uncle Alexander Argent' at the end of the episode.)
> 
> So even though he is a horrible person, Gerard has his reasons. This is why I love this show sometimes, everyone has motive. The characters are really well written, even if the plot and background isn't.


	15. Mistletoe

It's only early evening when a key scrapes in the lock.

Scott knows its Stiles, because his mom wasn't going to be back until later and Stiles is the only person he knows who would own a key to his house. He thinks his friend copied it at one point but he's not sure and at this point it makes more sense for Stiles to have a key than to not own one. Stiles is his brother anyway.

He stops half way down the stairs, examining his friend who keeps wringing his hands out, like he's got blood on them. His gaze darts around before finally resting on Scott, "Sorry for--" Stiles doesn't appear to know what to say, "I just… I was at home and I kept thinking… I just… sorry for intruding, I know you probably wanted to sleep and Melissa…"

"It's okay," Scott hastens to make that clear, "She's gone out to dinner with a guy. I think it might be a date but she didn't say."

"Huh," Stiles says, "That's odd. My dad's also out for dinner. You don't think…"

There's a pause, and then in sync they shake their heads, "Nah."

Stiles lingers at the bottom of the stairs, looking out of place in Scott's house which at one point he used to treat like an extension of his own. It hurts in a way, but in others its natural. They're not always going to be the same. They're not going to be able to go back… they can't go back. Not unless they want to lose everything they've gained as well as lost.

They have to keep moving forwards. So Scott makes a decision.

"Let me grab some blankets," Scott says, gesturing to the lounge with the ratty old sofa, "We'll make blanket forts and put on a movie. You can grab snacks."

"Really?" His friend's voice is hopeful, but there is still hesitance there. They haven't done something like this since…

Scott can't remember. Since last summer. Definitely since before they were bitten. Before Peter and Gerard and…

Scott has never quite figured out why Stiles forgave him so easily for working with Gerard. Lydia had said something about how out of all Scott's options, telling the Sheriff that Melissa was in danger, seeking help from Derek ... Scott had chosen the worst one. And they had that alike.

"I don't want to be alone either," Scott admits, and he thinks this might be their first step of many to something new. Something better.

"What am I?" Isaac drawls, from where he's scrawling out chemistry equations on the dining room table, "Raw liver?"

Stiles does a double-take at seeing the gold-eyed beta, "What are you doing here?"

"You didn't hear?" Isaac raises one eyebrow, "I live here."

"Since when?"

"Since Derek's loft because Piccadilly Circus for werewolves," Isaac gives up on school work and throws his pen down in clear defiance of chemistry, "Since Erica moved out. Since Boyd died. Since Derek prefers to mope alone in his angst with occasional visits from a girl who may or may not be his girlfriend."

Stiles takes all that in for a moment. Then: "You wanna watch a movie with us? Scott still hasn't seen Star Wars?"

"What do you mean he's hasn't seen Star Wars?"

And that's that.

 

Allison comes over the second night. She has a tale of how she once quoted Yoda, straight to Deaton and Scott's faces and they didn't even realise it and Lydia just thought it was good advice.

She brings with her an unfriendly werewolf who somehow migrates to where Isaac is sitting mid-way through the next movie. Cora doesn't seem to understand the joy in movies, but she lets Allison braid her hair. Malia crashes the party half-way through, waking up Scott who had fallen asleep, but at least this time she remembers to knock on the door. When the second movie winds down they get wasted. Or at least - they attempted to get wasted and all it revealed was that Allison was a giggly drunk and Stiles and Malia were surprisingly good at poker.

 

The next night Lydia comes along, completing the pack. She brings popcorn. Melissa arrives home in the morning from her night shift to find her living room overtaken by large blankets draped everywhere and too many sleeping bags than should theoretically fit in the room. Isaac is snoring on her sofa with Cora pressed between the warmth of his body and the sofa cushions. Scott's on the floor with Malia's feet draped over his stomach and her head nestled near Stiles' legs. He's lying on his back, head resting on Lydia's shoulder. The red-head is slightly turned away from him, squashed into a sleeping bag next to Allison who closes the circle, her head tucked against Scott's side.

Scott wakes as she drops her bag and keys down, blinking blearily at her, "I can explain," he says, as if he's in trouble.

Melissa just feels a deep sorrow for her child who is being forced to grow up way too soon - "You better," she says gently, "When I signed onto this werewolf train you told me puppy piles weren't a thing."

Scott blinks with wide, terrified eyes, shaking his head, "Werewolves don't do puppy piles," Scott says gravely, and tries to ignore how Malia is beginning to gnaw on Stiles' leg in her sleep.

 

It is with a sombre mood that Isaac goes to the hospital. He feels weighed down, feeling like there should be soft footsteps following behind him but when he looks there is nobody there.

He feels Boyd's absence keenly. He didn't think he would, but he does.

He can smell her before he gets there. Her scent is thin and sickly, but still alive. No matter how deep the claws may score, she's alive. She healed, just like Scott, just like Malia…

Derek looks up as he rounds the corner. The alpha looks nervous. Stressed, "Are you okay?" Isaac asks, and Derek just runs a tired hand through his hair.

"Alive," he says, and that's a sorry state of affairs in itself when that's the most positive thing they can say about themselves, "More than I can say for Ennis."

"Ennis?" Isaac remembers the big brutish alpha, "What happened to him?"

"Allison's flash arrow exploded in his face. It must have damaged his brain because he didn't heal. He's dead."

Isaac levels Derek a long look, searching for lies, for weakness before finally giving in and asking, "How do you know that?"

"Braeden and I went to talk to Deaton but… he had visitors."

There's something in the way Derek says the word 'visitors' that rings with aggression.

Isaac just nods. He knows Derek's talking about the alphas. He knows they're still around, that after the skirmish they're now out for blood.

Especially after losing one of their own.

"Where is Braeden?" he tries to keep his voice light. Like he doesn't feel like he's falling apart. The time spent watching Star Wars on Scott's sofa helped, but they can't keep forgetting about their problems.

"I don't know," Derek scowls, "I'm not her keeper."

Isaac wants to point out that while true, she is kind of becoming Derek's keeper. She keeps appearing at random times to help while at other moments she's just hanging around Derek's loft, cleaning her guns. Like, seriously, every time Isaac is there she's cleaning her guns. He's starting to think it's some kind of threat. Or maybe it's her way of flirting with the alpha, but he's not sure.

Shifting his weight from foot to foot he peers around Derek towards Erica's door, "Do you mind if I--" he makes as if to step towards it and it's more Derek's expression than body language or anything else that makes his hesitate.

His alpha steps out of his way, "Go ahead," Derek gestures, "Just… her parents are in there."

And - _oh_ -

Isaac doesn't know what he's supposed to do about that.

"I'll visit later," he spits out, abruptly u-turning and fleeing without even saying goodbye to Derek. He rounds the corner and almost walks straight into Cora.

The auburn haired girl has the reflexes of a werewolf, and it's easy for her to avoid a head-on collision, "No visitors?" she asks, and Isaac shakes his head numbly.

"Her parents are there…"

Cora slides into his shadow, following behind him as he heads through the hospital.

"Aren't you going to stay to talk to Derek?"

Cora's silence is frosty.

"She's going to leave, isn't she?" Isaac whispers, "Erica is going to leave."

"It's safer," Cora points out logically, "To be honest if Derek and Peter weren't here, I wouldn't have come back to this town. It's cursed and she… she's probably safer far away from here."

"I don't want her to leave," Isaac admits, feeling awkward admitting this to the girl next to him. She after all lost her whole pack and ran from the town with probably half a dozen hunters on her heels-- "Why did you leave?" he asks her, grabbing the opportunity, "Why didn't you stay? Why didn't you find your siblings, or your uncle…?"

"Don't." Cora shuts down faster than a frozen river.

"Don't what?" he can't help the cruel sneer that enters his tone. He'd blame Stiles, but if he's honest he's managed it ever since the bite lit that spark of anger in him. "You come into our territory as if you belong here but you don't. You left. You ran away, you can't honestly expect things to be the same as they were before."

Cora's glaring with all the fierceness of a Hale. He should quail, but she's not his alpha. She's just another beta. Omega even, Isaac isn't sure where the line blurs, "Derek's my brother," she snaps, "I have as much right to be here as you."

"You do," he shrugs, carelessly, "What I can't see is why you even bothered coming back? I mean - where were you for six years? What happened in the fire? You were listed as dead, how come you never told Derek or Laura--"

"Shut up!"

He should have expected the punch. In some ways he does, because he moves with it. It doesn't hit as hard but it still stings, it still hurts even if his body heals the pain.

He doesn't say anything. He doesn't need to. Point proven.

He watches Cora stalk off, and he glares after her, and it's only once she's gone that he slumps down and lets out the breath that he's been holding.

 

It's sunny.

That's the first thing that's wrong.

Lydia has been planning this moment for _months_. She has it all planned out right to the seconds, she's got graphs and charts with probabilities and likelihoods and there's a diagram that shows exactly how big the risk is that one or more people might die.

The sky above them is bleached red with the setting sun. No dark storm clouds loom, nor does rain batter the windows. It's wrong.

It's off-putting.

Still, Lydia doesn't let it get to her. Why should she? She's Lydia Martin. She's a genius, she's not going to be put off by a little nice weather…

It's a flash thought but she sees the red sky and thinks about how much it looks like it's awash with blood…

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Allison asks. It's needless. Lydia already knows.

"This is insane," Malia states, not even bothering to try and be nice about it, "From what I've heard, this guy is basically Satan in a v-neck and you want to go to him for help?"

"Peter doesn't offer help," Allison corrects Malia, "He offers you a chance to be manipulated into doing what he wants."

"So we see what he wants…"

"I don't what he wants," Lydia snaps over Malia, "But I need to know why I'm the one who keeps finding the dead bodies. I need to know why I can hear voices nobody else can. I need to know why I keep screaming and the wolves can hear it half the town away. And Peter always knows more than he's telling."

Allison shoots her a look that screams 'this is a really bad idea'.

Lydia knows. That's why she's not doing this alone.

The door to the loft slides open. Peter's already there like he expects them. Or maybe he lives there, or has taken to sleeping on Derek's sofa or maybe he just doesn't want anybody to know where he really lives. Peter's still technically and legally dead (or has he fixed that?). It's not like anybody really needs to know his address to post him stuff.

"Look who it is," he stands at the window, but at their arrival he turns, smirking at them, "a hunter, a banshee and a desert wolf."

Lydia doesn't move; her voice mute. Malia and Allison step forwards, flanking her and moving down the steps into the loft. Allison shoots an unimpressed look towards Lydia who finds her tongue, stepping down to meet Peter.

"Were you waiting there to say that? Standing there, for the three hours we had left in school, plotting what snarky words you could come up with? And after three hours that's the best you could think of?"

"It's nice to see you too," Peter grins.

"What did you call me?" she asks.

If anything his grin grows wider, "You mean you haven't worked it out yet?"

"What," her voice doesn't waver, "Did you call me?"

He spreads his arms out as if he doesn't mean any harm, "What else would I call you but what you are?"

"Which is?" Malia struts forwards as if he's a threat. Which he is, but Peter ignores her.

Peter tilts his head, his gaze settling on Lydia like a lead weight, "I really can't believe you haven't worked it out. The dead bodies. The screams. They call you the wailing woman, you know?"

It sparks something in Lydia's head, and she replays the conversation from the beginning.

"What is it?" the coyote growls out again, but this time Lydia knows the answer.

" _Banshee_."

 

"What's happening?"

Scott almost jumps out of his skin as Isaac appears, literally inches from him when he turns around. He’s been taking lessons from Derek, Scott thinks.

"What?" he blinks, forgetting what the beta had even asked in the first place.

"What's going on?" Isaac raises his voice slightly to be heard above the crazy rush of the hospital.

"There was a ten car pile-up," he explains, frowning at him, "What are you doing here?"

He seems annoyed at something, but he can't work out what, "Visiting Erica," he says shortly, and with a guilty churning in his stomach Scott is reminded of the wounded beta. He should probably pop in a visit, he thinks, he's already dropped off his mom's dinner anyway, and she hardly has time to eat it as she rushes around, shouting out instructions and looking in desperation for the on-call doctor who is conspicuously absent.

"Why are they all waiting around like this?" Isaac looks freaked out by all the sick people and the tang of blood in the air.

"The doctor on duty didn't arrive. And the on-call one hasn't turned up yet either," he shrugs, and as if they're thinking the same thing they turn to look at each other, horror-struck. "Healers," Scott whispers, "Wasn't that one of the categories?"

Isaac doesn't answer. He’s gone rigid, like a bloodhound staring through the crowd to where someone is calling out for help. Scott’s mother is already half-way there, and somehow Isaac makes it there before Melissa does, Scott on his heels when he sees who it is.

Ethan's face is pale and Danny’s pulse is racing, body slack, "Help him," the alpha pleads, "Someone help him!"

 

"They go."

"They stay. Otherwise I can't be held liable for any damage I do to you."

Peter leers at her.

"Did you always know?" she demands, "When you bit me did you know?"

He narrows his eyes, "No," he admits, and Lydia hates that she has to glance sideways at Malia for confirmation.

The coyote's nod is slow in coming, but it does come, "He's telling the truth."

"Would I lie?" Peter sounds indignant. Lydia doesn't care, "I knew you were immune. There's a certain… scent… I knew you wouldn't turn and that was all I needed to bind myself to you."

"Bind yourself?" Allison laughs, "You brainwashed her and used her to help you bring yourself back to life!"

Peter turns slowly to face the hunter, "Brainwashed?" he asks, sounding almost hurt, "Used? Lydia did it of her own free will. In the end - she came to me."

"To get you out of my head," she says through gritted teeth. Malia's head snaps around, and Lydia wonders what her heart sounds like.

"You were my back-up plan, Lydia. My bite brought out your latent abilities that I didn't even know you had! I've heard about banshees, about how you play with death and hear whispers nobody else can hear. I gave you power, Lydia, isn't that a good thing?"

Allison once again jumps to her defence, "You gave yourself a way back to life by mauling Lydia against her will."

"So there was a little mauling. Some biting. It wasn't as bloody as it could have been. After all, power doesn't come without a little pain and did you think power like that was going to come out on its own?" He clicks his tongue against the back of his teeth, "I'm the spark that lit your fire, _sweetheart_."

Allison spins around to face her, "He's insane," she says plainly, ignoring Peter standing less than a metre from them, "We're leaving," Allison grabs her hand, tugging her back but Lydia doesn't go.

Lydia tugs her hand free, letting it fall to her side. Allison gazes at her a little fearfully as she examines the werewolf standing in front of her, "What can I do?" she asks, "You know about banshees. How do I control it?"

"Do I look like I know?" Peter sneers, "I'm not a banshee."

"Come on!" Allison grabs at her hand again, and this time Lydia goes. She's already got more than she came with--

"Wait!" Peter calls as she spins away. Malia glances at Lydia, her gaze worried, but she stays silent as Lydia waits, her back to Peter, "You want the truth, Lydia? It's not the scream that gives you power, all the scream does is help drown out the noise. Allowing you hear what you really need to… _I_ can help you focus your hearing."

She's intrigued despite herself. Allison looks uncomfortable, but she doesn't protest as Lydia spins back around to where Peter stands, watching her.

"You're an instrument, attuned to a level of the universe that nobody else can hear. You can hear things on so many levels and most of them supernatural."

"What do you mean?"

"The deaths?" Peter explains, "Because you're so linked to the fabric of reality, you're drawn to deaths that are supernaturally inclined. Have you been hearing voices, seeing things…?"

Lydia can't help the look she shoots at Allison, remembering the voices of the couple, seconds before--

"Everything leaves ripples. Echoes, that remain in the air, imprinted onto reality. You can hear it."

Peter's being helpful. Too helpful. Lydia presses her lips together and wishes she'd brought the molotov cocktail Stiles had made up for her. She should have let him come with her, she thinks. She should have agreed when they had made they 'just in case' plan to kill Peter.

Lydia sighs and closes her eyes.

"He's telling the truth," Malia whispers to her, "But I don't like this."

"Neither do I," she opens her eyes, "What do you want? I can't imagine you're telling me all this out of the kindness of your heart?"

"No, I'm dedicating my life to helping out narcissist teenage girls. Of course I want something in return."

He pulls out a box. It's round, circular with a carved triskellion - the same as Derek's tattoo - on the lid. With two grating slides, Peter pulls it open.

"Cora brought this back with her," he says, "She wouldn't tell me how she got it."

He tilts it, and something skids out. Five small stones, bounce across the table, and despite herself, Lydia leans closer. Allison picks one up, and it's not a stone.

It's a claw.

A werewolf claw.

 

"Okay, put him down here."

Melissa takes charge in a way that Scott didn't even know she could do. She's never exactly been the strict parenting type, but now her firm, soft commands have even an alpha werewolf dropping his boyfriend on a spare hospital bed and hovering anxiously.

"What did you do to him?" Isaac grabs Ethan by the shirt, tugging him away from Danny. Ethan doesn't even fight him, just lets himself be dragged with him, but his gaze stays fixed on Danny. Isaac looks seconds away from mauling the alpha, and Scott has to forcefully manhandle him away from Ethan.

"Nothing - he said he had chest pains… he was having trouble breathing--"

"His larynx has shifted--" Melissa looks up with worry, "I think it's--"

She's interrupted by Danny gagging on something. There's a rush of hands as they try to roll him before he chokes on his own vomit, fluid spewing out onto the floor. Scott wrinkles his nose at the smell, but that's when he notices the small fleshy white balls bouncing onto the surface.

He frowns, and Melissa is trying to get Ethan out of the way, and neither of them notice as he bends down, picking one of the things out of the vomit.

It's a fruit, he realises. Not a fruit. A seed - something he sees mostly at Christmas time.

"What is it?" Isaac frowns down at him, "Scott?"

He knows what it is. The question is how did it get there? "Mistletoe," he whispers, "It's mistletoe."

 

"You know keeping your dead sister's claws are creepy," Allison informs him.

"I didn't have them," Peter sneers, "Cora did."

"How did Cora get them?"

"I'd like to know - how about you ask her sometime, since she won't talk to me. Probably still mad that I killed Laura…"

"I'd be mad too if I were her," Malia says bluntly. Lydia thinks she's beginning to love the way the coyote says exactly what is on everybody's mind without caring about the consequences - she can see what Stiles finds so appealing about the girl, "You killed her sister."

"I was insane," Peter sounds exasperated, "I'd spent the last six years half out of my mind…"

"You're still insane," Allison informs him.

Peter glares at her, then tilts his neck to where Lydia had picked up another of the claws. Ugh, she thinks, so unhygienic. She tries to image finding these in the ashes of the fire. Finding a half-burned skeleton with the only thing left the alpha claws that won't burn. "What do you want?" she asks, "And how are the claws of Derek's mother going to help?"

"She was my sister," Peter sounds like he's trying to sound sad, "Talia… before she died…" he quickly loses that tone, becoming serious, "Werewolves can share and give memories through their claws. Alphas even have the ability to manipulate memories, create new ones or… take them."

Malia looks plain reluctant to touch the claws. She pokes at them with one of her own, "Which one did she do to you?"

"She stole a memory from me. I don't remember it, but echoes of it will have remained in these claws. I want it back."

"What kind of memory would she have stolen from you?" Lydia hums, tilting her gaze to look at Peter.

"If I remembered the memory, I might be able to tell you."

"How do you remember when you don't remember?" Malia asks, and it makes no sense except it _does_.

"Do you notice when someone rips out a lung?" Peter's tone grow scathing again, "I _noticed_."

Lydia scoops up the claws into her palm, wrapping her fingers around them. They're cool to touch, and they rattle slightly as she tilts her fist this way and that, judging the weight, "So how does this work?" she asks, "Do I scream?"

"Do you need to?" he looks honestly curious.

The coyote bounces, slightly uneasy, "Are they going to talk to you?"

Peter shrugs, watching Lydia carefully, "Maybe. You need to listen. To focus."

"This is mad," Allison breathes.

"Focus," Peter tells her again, and maybe it would be better if she actually knew what she was focussing on. She lets the claws roll in his fist, feeling their weight, their texture, trying to imagine a woman with Derek's eyes and dark hair and Peter's sharp face, her eyes red and claws out-- "Focus!"

"I am focussing," she hisses.

"You're not. You won't stop _thinking_ , always with the thinking, you and my beta both--"

"He's not your beta," Malia snarls.

"He was once," the werewolf says, in a tone that promises he will be again and Lydia clenches her eyes closed, "Try, Lydia."

"I am--" she's frustrated and annoyed and--

"Try harder--" he steps towards her, tone growing ever so slightly desperate and belaying his anxiety over this. Whatever Talia stole from him must have been important, Lydia thinks, important enough that she would want to keep it from her brother. Important and potential dangerous if Peter knew-- "Lydia, focus!"

There's a buzz of electricity. Lydia opens her eyes to see Peter turning slowly to where Allison is holding out an electrified baton, gaze locked on Peter. Malia's claw have slid out and with a deft flick of his wrist, the wolf's claws also extend, fingers splayed threateningly. "Don't touch her," Allison says, voice deathly calm.

Peter angles his neck so it just touches the tip of the baton, "Your aunt had one of those," he says, "Aunty _Kate_ \--"

"Stop it," Lydia whispers, "Both of you--" She should have brought Scott. At least he didn't result to violence--

Malia growled, eyes flashing blue--

"It didn't do her much good when I ripped her throat out, did it?" Peter's tone is mocking. Cruel. He doesn't appear at all fazed by the were-coyote or hunter standing there.

Neither is Allison, "She didn't shove up your--"

"STOP IT!" Lydia screams, flinging out her hand as if to stop the conflict, to just make them _shut up_ \--

She hadn't realised she was still holding the claws. Not until Peter leans back to narrowly avoid being impaled on them and they bury themselves into a wooden pillar, vibrating, _echoing_ \--

Lydia lets out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding, her gaze fixed on the claws.

"Lydia?" Malia asks, but she doesn't hear her.

Which is ironic.

Because Lydia is _listening_.

 

"Can you three please go back to the waiting room?"

His mom sounds stressed. Really stressed and her scent just rockets up to extremes as she tries to explain what's happening to them, "His lung has collapsed. His chest is pressing down on his heart."

"He's going to die," Scott realises, helplessness overtaking him. Ethan glares at him as if this is all his fault.

"No."

They turn to look at Melissa who seems to be steeling herself to do something she probably shouldn't - she's only a nurse, Scott reminds himself, but she's a very good one.

"Cut his shirt open," she instructs the alpha werewolf. Ethan has no complaints about that and doesn't even bother with scissors, just tears it right off. And that's when Melissa holds out the giant needle.

"Uh… mom, do you know what you're doing with that?"

"That's a big needle," Isaac actually steps back. Then winces and looks away as Melissa stabs it straight down into Danny's chest.

Scott just watches in amazement. He's never seen his mom like this, so confident, so sure of herself and so--

He's just in awe. His mom is the best, he thinks, and she pulls back, watching anxiously for a few seconds before Danny's eyes flutter open.

"Thank you."

"Your mom is so badass," Isaac whispers to him, "I'm so glad I'm living with you."

Scott can't tear his gaze away from her, but he nods in agreement. His mom is amazing.

 

"Lydia? Lydia, do you hear something? What is it? What are they saying? Is it the memory? What did Talia take from me? Tell me what she knew!"

It's a turnabout, she thinks vaguely, that she's no longer the one asking 'did you hear something?'

Because she can hear. Oh she can hear oh so clearly and she turns, gaze sliding past Peter to where Malia stands. Lydia doesn't know what to do. On one hand she had said she'd help Peter but on the other hand--

"Lydia?" Peter sounds concerned. Almost worried, "What did you hear?"

She tears her gaze from Malia and doesn't know what else to say, "You're not just an uncle," she tells him.

His expression would be almost comical if it wasn't so serious. Would it have helped, she wonders, had he known this sooner? Or had Talia taken the memory away for a reason? Was there a reason she didn't want her brother knowing about his own child?

"You mean he has a kid?" Allison sounds disgusted. Malia is oddly silent, as if she can still feel the weight of Lydia's gaze on her.

"Who? Where?" Peter wracks his brain like he's trying to remember every woman he's probably slept with, "Do you know who, Lydia? Did you hear it?" he takes a step towards her, and this time Allison isn't so obvious. She steps around to the side, in his blind spot, electric baton still in her hand.

"I don't know," she takes a step backwards. Could she tell him, she wonders, although it’s more like _should_ she tell him. Instead she is evasive, “I don’t know,” she lies, “It don't its name, if it's a boy or a girl or some mutated wolf baby--"

"You're lying," Malia is the one who says it, and Lydia stops walking. Peter freezes, and he's still frowning at Lydia but-- "Lydia, why are you lying?"

Because the truth is if it had been a random kid named Kyle who moved out of Beacon Hills years ago with his adopted family and isn't a werewolf, is blissfully unaware of the supernatural, Lydia probably would have given the name over in an instant. It might have even gotten Peter out of Beacon Hills and out of their lives.

But the truth isn't that easy. The truth is that the girl is standing right behind her father, with werewolf claws and werewolf eyes and the ability to shift fully into a coyote that didn't come from her father.

She gazes past Peter, meeting Malia's gaze and trying to convey her emotions through the air and the words she utters, but they are nothing but condemning, "I'm sorry. Malia, I'm sorry."

Peter whirls around. It's like Lydia isn't even there anymore, his gaze is entirely fixed upon Malia who stands there, meeting his gaze plainly. She knew was adopted - Stiles had told Lydia they'd found the papers and besides, it's genetically impossible for a shifter to be born to two humans. Malia had known she was adopted but her real parents--

Peter looks at the coyote girl in a new light and it scares Lydia. Maybe it would scare her more had she not already heard Malia's opinion on the man, before either knew their relation. Peter had practically ignored her, but now he can't take his eyes off her--

"Brown eyes," he whispers, "They must have come from your mother… your mother… desert wolf, no, but--" he steps forwards, hand reaching as if he wants to pet her, or bring her closer but Malia lurches back--

There is a crackle of electricity and Peter drops to the floor with a grunt. Malia takes another step back, and then moves around him swiftly and determinedly. Allison hums, examining her stun baton critically and then turns to Lydia, "Ready to leave now?"

"Let's go," she lets Allison drag her up the stairs to where Malia is already waiting, "I'm sorry," she tells Malia, but the other girl, despite looking shocked, doesn't look hurt.

"No, I'm glad I know. I don't like it, but knowing is always better than not knowing."

Malia is quiet all the way to the car. Lydia tries to think how she's going to tell Scott about this… hell… how she's going to tell _Stiles_ …

That gets settled for her, when Malia leans forwards between the seats, startling both Allison and Lydia, "What is it?" Allison asks, turning to look sideways at the coyote.

"Do you judge me because of my father?"

"I'm not really in a place to judge people because of their relatives," Allison says, softly.

"No," Lydia says, but she knows she does. She can't help it, she looks at Malia and sees the same ice blue wolf eyes that Peter now has. She looks at Malia and wonders if she killed her adopted mother and sister because it was in her nature.

"You're lying," Malia whispers, "And it's okay. I'm okay."

Lydia thinks she's lying but she can't hear heartbeats to verify it.

"Just…" the coyote seems to hesitate, "Can you do something for me?"

"Yes," Lydia owes her that much, "What is it?"

"Don't tell Stiles."

 

"Two?" the Sheriff frowns, "Two missing?" he turns to the empty car, and Scott looks nervous. Scared. Isaac is hovering and the other beta is making Stiles nervous. Even more nervous than he should be considering Scott had called him and his dad all the way out here at this time of evening.

Another doctor missing. Except it wasn't just one.

"Two?" the Sheriff says again.

"Yeah - Dr Hilyard, the on-call doctor and the E.R attending. Dr Hilyard’s car arrived at the hospital but there was nobody in it. Just a dead moth."

"Can I--"

Scott doesn't even let him finish his sentence, just gestures to Isaac to hand over the moth to Stiles. He squints at it. He's not an expert on moth species, but it's the scent he's more worried about.

"Can you really get anything from that?" Isaac sounds sceptical. His dad is looking at him with one eyebrow raised and so Stiles obliges them all by breathing in the scent of the moth.

It's like electricity, he thinks.

"Ozone," he shrugs, "The same as the others."

"What? I couldn't smell that - give it here--"

"Boys," the Sheriff scolds them, and it's weird enough that he treats Scott like his son, Stiles thinks, but now it appears they've adopted Isaac as well. Just for that he gives the other wolf a shove, keeping the moth far away from his claws. He wants to identify it after all.

Scott looks like he's bursting to say something, and he blurts it out, gaze serious, "Danny coughed up mistletoe."

"What?"

"Yeah," Isaac nods in agreement, "But I'd say it was more like he vomited it up--"

"I think it might have caused his illness. Or maybe it's like the moth."

"Like the moth?" the Sheriff is frowning, "Hold up, I can get the two doctors being missing, but Danny… Danny isn't a healer." He looks around from Melissa who is starting to bite her fingernails, to Scott, Isaac and then Stiles.

"Is Danny okay?" Stiles tries to sound mildly concerned, even though his mind is too busy racing through all his options, the facts and the theories and--

"He is now. My mom was amazing. Like, seriously badass. She re-inflated his lung with a wickedly long needle."

Stiles glances sideways to where Melissa is trying to fight a grin. Even his dad claps her on the back in congratulations, "I should get your statement," the Sheriff says, gesturing to the empty car behind them and sighing, "I might make it home eventually provided they don't call in about another missing doctor."

Stiles watches his dad and Scott's mom walk off, "Twenty-four hours," he says, dryly, "That's the time limit each of the last set of sacrifices took place within. Maybe it's just coincidence. Lydia's models don't really fit any of it, but…" he shrugs, then sniffs again, "What was Ethan doing here?"

"He came with Danny," Scott explains wearily, "Don't look like that, dude. He's not as bad as you think he is.

"He's an _alpha_ ," Stiles uses that word like it's a curse. Because for him it has been. Peter manipulated and used him. He can still feel the prick of claws in his neck on the bad nights. And Derek… Derek isn't much better. Stiles had an alpha once, he's not too keen to try the experience again. "Not to mention Aiden is still stalking after Lydia like a lustful puppy," he adds.

Scott sighs, "Apparently they were told to keep an eye on both of them because they knew one would be important to me…." he sounds lost, "But why me?"

Stiles bites his lip for a moment, then decides that there is no point keeping secrets, "Allison and I overheard Morrell and Deucalion talking," he admits, "Back in the bank. Nothing they said made much sense but Braeden… anyway, they said there was legend in the making in this town… and I think they were talking about you."

"Me?" Scott stares at him, "Why me? What's so special about me?"

Stiles opens his mouth and then closes it. He doesn't know how Scott doesn't see, and he glances sideways at Isaac who is also frowning.

There's been something different about Scott lately. And Stiles obviously isn't the only one who realises that there's a balance shifting.

"What?" Scott flinches back, "Why are you staring at me?"

Isaac shakes his head, trying to look like he was doing anything but, "Who? Me? No, I wasn't…"

"Isaac."

"It's nothing," Isaac shrugs, "Can I get a ride home?" he turns to look at Stiles when he says this, but Scott's the one who takes him up on the offer with a "Yeah, sure." Isaac shoots Stiles a betrayed look.

Stiles is too busy listening to where his dad's radio has beeped. He doesn't think his dad will make it home tonight after all.

Isaac turns to look behind him, then back to Stiles, "Another body?" he asks.

Stiles nods, "I'm gonna…" he holds up the moth and it's practically explanation enough. Isaac peers around him to where Scott is sufficiently far enough away grabbing his helmet.

"Are you really going to make me ride on the motorcycle?"

Stiles pauses, glancing behind him to where Scott notices, waving at him, then turns back to Isaac. It's not like riding the bike is bad. And Scott's a good driver. An excellent driver. But maybe it's the werewolf skills, or the freedom of it, but Scott really pushes his limits and after once experience, Stiles has vowed never to leave his jeep again. Even as a werewolf, the whole experience is sort of terrifying. "Good luck," he tells him, totally seriously. "I'll mourn you if you don't make it."

Isaac glares, before shoving past and muttering, "If I die, I'm coming back to haunt you."


	16. Druid

Scott wakes up, bleary eyed and looking up at his mom's disapproving face, "Boys!" she snaps, and Isaac jerks like a puppet with his strings pulled. His mom gapes at them, head turning to look from one to the other in amazement, "What are you doing?"

"Watching you," Isaac says, like the concerned puppy he is and there is an awkward pause while they all acknowledge how weird that sounded, "Watching _over_ you!" Isaac corrects, "After the disappearing doctors last night--"

"We wanted to make sure you weren't the third sacrifice," Scott explains, and his mother relaxes, looking almost fond of her son and the boy they've taken under their roof.

"But you were asleep?"

Scott turns to Isaac, "You were on watch last!"

"What are you talking about?" Isaac sounds sceptical, "You were on watch last!"

"No," Scott shakes his head, "You were on watch last."

He sees the moment Isaac realises, his hand pausing mid head scratch and the beta turning wide, guilty eyes to Melissa whose anger had faded to fond exasperation, "I might have been on watch last," Isaac admits, weakly.

"My heroes," Melissa sighs, "But I'm not a doctor."

"You're a healer," Scott argues, while Isaac inconspicuously collects up their soda cans from the chest of drawers, "You were amazing last night and we don't know how exactly these sacrifices are filled."

Melissa looks touched, "Well I'm not going to be a human sacrifice today. And you're not going to be guarding me - you're going to go to school."

Scott stares at her in horror and then he spots the time, "Oh crap, we're going to be late!"

 

"Okay, so I looked up that moth and did you know there are eight-hundred and thirty four moth species in California alone? That's not even mentioning the species we get in Beacon County and if it's anything like the fireflies then--"

"Then it might not even be native to California," Scott sighs. His friend has been talking for ten minutes already but he's barely heard him. If he's honest, Scott just sort of tunes Stiles out when he goes on one of his research fuelled explanations.

"Exactly," Stiles punctuates the point by throwing his book on the table, even as their teacher starts talking. Ms Blake jumps, but relaxes when she sees it's just Stiles and Scott. Scott doesn't know why. He'd have thought she'd be terrified after finding out they were werewolves, but apart from a funny look, she just shrugs and continues explaining for why exactly she's subbing their chemistry class.

Scott has his English book out of instinct upon seeing the teacher, and now he rifles through his bag for his chemistry text book.

"Hey," Stiles leans precariously across the gap between their tables, "So my dad told me about that E.R. they found. He wasn't strangled like the others but he did still die from asphyxiation."

Scott wrinkles his nose, "What's that?"

Stiles' jaw drops open in horror and Scott hastens to reassure him.

"I know what asphyxiation is," he rolls his eyes, "It was on my word of the day about a month ago, even if we haven't been having enough strangled bodies."

"But that's the thing," Stiles says, "This body wasn't strangled. But it's still a sacrifice. What else could it be?"

"You mean like Danny was one of the sacrifices?" Scott raises one eyebrow, "Mistletoe and a crushed lung aren't typical of the sacrifices either, so why was Danny targeted?"

"You're assuming Danny was targeted by the Darach and he didn't just find some mistletoe and think it looked tasty and--" Stiles' voice trailed off, "I don't know, but I know who might. Mistletoe is a druid thing, right?"

"You're thinking Deaton?" Scott glances around, "I can't go see him now - not in school!"

"You and school… but no, that's not what I'm saying. There's a druid here, and you won't even need to leave the building."

"What?" Scott frowns.

"Yeah," Stiles nods, "You just need to make an appointment with the guidance councillor.”

Oh, Scott thinks. " _Morrell_."

 

"Did you marry?" Scott leans against the doorway and the part-time French teacher just stiffens, "Is that why you and Dr Deaton don't share the same name?"

Her smiles is thin and razor sharp, "We're only half-siblings," she says, "Do come in, Scott. I don't recall you making an appointment."

He shrugs, sitting down in front of her and letting the door close behind him, "It was kind of a last minute thing."

She clasps her hands on the desk, and tilts her head, not saying anything, just listening.

Scott sighs. It looks like he's going to have to ask about this himself then: "What do you know about the murders?"

"Only as much as you do," she says, voice still sounding like she knows more than she's telling.

"Two doctors have already been taken," Scott meets her gaze, "That means there is only one left. Is there a way to predict where the next one will be taken? Where they'll turn up?"

Morrell just quirks a single, slender eyebrow, "You already have everything you need, Scott."

Anger wells up inside him and he barely manages to stop his fist from slamming down on the table, "Why don't you care more about this?" he asks, plaintively, "People are dying--"

"People die all the time. I can't stop it."

She sounds unconcerned. But Scott knows that look in her eyes.

"And Deucalion?" he asks, spreading out his hands, "What does he want?"

Morrell hums, lacing her fingers together, "He's a collector. He wants a pack of alphas with special skills. A strong pack, bigger and better than any ordinary pack."

"Then why does he want _me_?" Scott stresses.

She just blinks at him, almost sadly. As if she's sorry for him. "He's obsessive," she tells him, "You are something… you're rare. And as a collector he wants that. But at the same time - you and your pack - you're something new. Something different. You're a threat and if he can't have you, he'd much rather you and your pack were destroyed before you become more stronger than you already are."

"They're not my pack," Scott shakes his head, "They're my friends."

"In a way," Morrell hums, "That almost makes you more dangerous. But right now it shouldn’t be your friends you should be worried about. You’re not the only one Deucalion wants after all.”

Scott’s eyes widen slightly. “Derek.”

 

"Danny-boy? You awake?"

It had been a good plan in theory. Talk to Danny to check he hadn't eaten any mistletoe lately.

It was a great plan. A brilliant plan. After all everybody loves Danny - who would want to poison him?

Danny's completely and utterly out of it. Stiles claps his hands over the teenager's head and he doesn't even stir, just mumbles something about a strip club.

Stiles sighs. Maybe Lydia was wrong.

"'Ask Danny' she said 'He knows about werewolves already, Jackson told him' she said, 'it will take five minutes' she said, well she isn't the one standing here having to watch you sleep."

Danny snorts a little in his slumber.

"Not that watching you sleep isn't nice but I need to talk to you--ooh--" his voice trails off as he spots Danny's school bag. Why exactly his school bag is at hospital, he's not sure. Maybe the other boy's family brought it so Danny could do school work like the good boy he was. Either way Stiles has always had a strong sense of curiosity.

He should have been a were-cat, he thinks, not a werewolf.

Are were-cat's a thing? There are were-coyotes after all.

Are there shapeshifters that can change into birds? Lions?

It opens up a whole world of possibilities and Stiles isn't vaguely intrigued by any of them. Being a werewolf is hard enough.

"What are you doing?" Danny mumbles.

"Oh, _now_ you wake up," Stiles rolls his eyes, "I'm going through your stuff."

"Why are you going through my stuff?"

"Because someone tried to kill you and I'm trying to figure out why," he bites back, gazing with frustration at a page of algebraic equations, "Except I don't think anyone tried to kill you for your math homework. This is useless. Even if you did get question 16 and 23 wrong."

"Mhhmmm," Danny sounds like he's riding the happy drugs, "Try my Physics project."

Stiles perks up, immediately diving back into the bag to look for the Physics book, "What's so special about that?"

"Ms Blake was checking over them for me. She got really angry about it… 'pparently it's pseudo-science. I thought it was appropriate, given Beacon Hills."

"Telluric currents," Stiles whispers, unfolding a map, "It's a _literal_ Beacon…?" this is something new. Something important. Danny's a genius, he thinks, Danny and Lydia are his favourite people and they're so clever and-- "I need to tell someone."

"That's why they call it Beacon Hills," Danny mumbles in his sleep, "Well… that and the werewolves…"

Stiles backtracks so fast he almost trips, "Werewolves? Where the wolves?"

Danny snores slightly. Stiles' jaw literally drops open in annoyance.

"Don't think this gets you out of it, Danny boy. Lydia's going to give you a conversation about boyfriend choices."

The technical genius is starting to drool in his sleep.

Stiles sighs, "When you're awake, of course. And not dying. And-- you know what I'm just going to come back later."

 

"You know: we should totally start a Teen Detective Agency."

Allison jumps. She can't help it but when Stiles' voice echoes right behind her she flinches, hands going for her weapons close at hand before she realises her mistake. She spins around. Stiles is grinning. He doesn't even look threatened by the blade half way out of its sheath in her shoe.

She stares at him for a long second, eyes flickering to the closed door, "You came through the window, didn't you?" she couldn't sound more unimpressed if she tried.

He shrugs, "What can I say? It was open."

"I'm going to electrify those windows," she hopes he takes her seriously. Because that is seriously the only warning he is going to get.

One eyebrow cocks, as if to tell her to bring on the challenge. Then seconds later his attention is distracted and he wields a pack of papers like a weapon, almost throwing them in her face, "Look what I found. Or rather, Danny found, but he's unconscious so I'm claiming credit."

"What is it?" she asks, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear and trying to sort through the papers, "Physics project proposal?"

"It's all pseudo-science of course," Stiles shrugs, "None of its proven but there's another name for it. One we're probably more familiar with."

"And what's that?"

He grins. "Magic."

She shoots him an unimpressed look.

"Come on! I can't make a Harry Potter ref-- okay, no, fine, the supernatural. Beacon Hills is literally a beacon. Danny was going to do a project on the geomagnetic fields that flow through the earth. They're affected by lunar phases and some of them run right through Beacon Hills. And not just run through - they cross. These currents of energy run over it giving it power. Real power. No wonder the Hales lived here… this place is a well of energy."

She sheaves through the papers, and a map partially unfolds. She grabs the blueprint, peering at it and her heart sinks slightly. Stiles is already looking at her with a frown, watching as she unfolds the map fully just to be sure. "My dad has a map like this," she says, dragging her gaze up to him, "It's on his desk and every time I'm in the room he covers it over and--"

Now it's Stiles' turn to stiffen. His head swivels to the door, and his eyes widen, "Your dad!" he hisses, and in her alarm Allison shoves him off the bed.

It doesn't help. There's a loud thump and she closes her eyes, taking a deep breath as her dad opens the door.

For a moment he stands there, staring at where Allison sits on her bed. Then he leans around, blinking at where Stiles is lying, rubbing with mock pain at an already healing bruise with the papers scattered around him, "Hi… Mr Argent…" Stiles blinks innocently up at Chris. Allison just winces.

"We were studying," she told her dad.

"Okay," Chris wisely decides not to even ask, "I'm going to the shops. Do you want anything?"

"Strawberry laces," Stiles says, and the hunter glares at him, jaw tense.

"We need some more cereal," Allison tries to pretend this is normal.

"Okay," Chris says again, "I don't want to come back to a Game of Thrones marathon."

"Nah," Stiles says, still lying on the floor, "We did that the last weekend. Then it was Star Wars. Next up is Supernatural. We're going to be taking notes."

Allison has never been more relieved when her dad just decides to walk out of there. The two teenagers sit there waiting until the lock clicks and then they're up, peering after him, "You _idiot_ ," she scolds him.

"Hey - you're the one who pushed me off the bed!"

"You're the one who climbed in through the window!"

"Your doorman is scary!"

"Come on!" she gestures, peering around her apartment like her dad is hiding behind the sofa waiting to catch them. Cora isn't back yet, so it's just them. She leads them to her dad's study, shoving the books to the side. Stiles leans over, eyes widening as he flounders for the map he's still holding.

"They're the same," he whispers, "Practically the same… but… Allison, your dad's map is just a map. Maybe he just wanted a map of Beacon Hills on his desk?"

"Yeah?" she asks, raising one eyebrow, "Well wait until you see this."

She clicks on the UV light in her hand.

 

The alarm blares. Loudly.

Derek looks like he almost wants to punch it off the wall. It's not like it's been very useful.

Besides, Malia thinks, it's not like anyone apart from Derek actually lives in the loft.

Well… maybe Peter… and she just doesn't want to think about that so she's going to stop right there.

"What happened to school?" Derek slams the book he's reading closed. Next to Malia, Scott slows to a halt with a sigh.

"It's four o'clock," Scott replies, "School's finished. We wanted to check up on you." He looks nervous. Tense. He's not mentioned anything about a potential alpha threat, so Malia keeps her mouth shut and ears on.

Derek narrows his eyes, "I'm not going to run off on you guys again," he says, sounding angry. Scott and Malia look varying degrees of sceptical.

Scott doesn't react, "Where's Peter?" he asks, looking around the loft, "I thought he lived here or something?"

Derek's expression is unimpressed, "He has his own home. He's probably there now, playing video games or whatever he does with his time."

Scott's jaw drops, "Peter plays video games?" he asks, then blinks, "Wait, wait… did you just make a joke?"

The older werewolf looks distinctly uncomfortable, "I think he actual does, but I don't care enough to go and check on him on a regular basis."

"Where is his apartment?" Malia asks. Scott frowns at her, and Derek…

Derek is her cousin, she realises suddenly. Derek and Cora are her cousins.

She's a Hale.

Malia Hale.

She… she doesn't like the sound of it. At all.

Derek doesn't seem that bothered, and he just shrugs suggesting he doesn’t even know. She tries not to look disappointed.

"We're still no closer to finding the Darach," Scott sighs, keeping Derek in the loop, "And we're two more healers down with no way to find the third before they vanish. Stiles is looking into one lead we have now but otherwise…"

"What _about_ Lydia?"

Scott frowns, "What do you mean 'what about Lydia?'" Derek turns to look at Malia who just shrugs.

"She's a banshee," she says, "Whatever that means. She's been researching it but she… she still doesn't know how it's supposed to help."

"A _banshee_?" Scott's nose wrinkles, "Don't they--" his voice stutters, "Scream…" he breathes.

Derek looks quietly contemplative.

"Which reminds me," Scott hums, "What did you say to our English teacher? Did you threaten her, because my grade went up recently."

"Maybe you're just doing better at English."

Scott doesn't look convinced, "You threatened her, didn't you?"

"Maybe. Look, she's not exactly someone I wanted to stop and have a long conversation with. I saved her life, she was very thankful, but Boyd died because of it! I'm not interested in anything she has to offer."

"Offer?" Scott stares at him in horror and Malia's doesn't get it. Not until Scott chokes out, "Did she flirt with you?"

And Malia knows this. She recalls Stiles' lesson on this and she knows what flirting leads to and-- "Did you have sex?"

Derek splutters, "No, Malia, I did not have sex with your English teacher!"

"Are you sure?" Malia raises one eyebrow, "She's kind of hot."

They all pause to look at her.

"Is there a reason you came up here?" Derek asks, splaying his hands out in exasperation.

Scott still seems reluctant to tell. That's okay, because Malia has no qualms about warning them, "Scott spoke to Morrell."

"Malia--"

Ignoring his whine she keeps talking, "She said Deucalion might be coming for you."

"Well that's nothing new," Derek shrugs, "Erica's already gotten out of town. Her parents moved her as soon as they could."

"Erica left?" Scott blinks, shaking his head with a sigh, "I thought she'd stay…"

"At least she's alive," Malia tries to be optimistic. It doesn't help.

"It's probably sensible," Derek shrugs, "This town is dangerous. First the kanima, now the alphas? It's not safe!"

"But…" Scott looks lost, "It's our home."

Erica's got the right idea, Malia thinks. The town is dangerous and logically they should be running.

Scott does the right thing though. Scott always does the right thing.

All Malia's instincts telling her to get out of there. To run.

But these people have taken her in. Befriended her. Taught her how to be human.

Isaac's staying because of Scott. Cora's staying because of Derek.

Malia wonders for half a moment who she's staying for, then realises she already knows..

That's about the moment when Derek's alarm goes off again.

  

"Jesus," Stiles mutters as the UV light illuminates her dad's desk. She watches as his gaze tracks what she already knows. The murders are all plotted out across the town, marked out for all to see if they just know how to look. "It's worrying," Stiles voices her worst fears, "Your dad has been tracking and mapping everything. Where the bodies go missing. Where they turn up."

"Maybe he's the one killing people," Allison whispers, "He's not… at least I don't think he is…"

"He doesn't strike me as the dark serial-killing druid who has been murdering people," Stiles says. It's not reassuring, "He's doing the same thing we are. He's trying to predict a pattern based on what we know already."

Allison sighs, glancing over her dad's map of Beacon Hills, "This is useless," she says, stepping back slightly.

Stiles however is frowning at the map in his hands, then glancing at the one on the desk, "Huh," he says.

"What?" Allison tilts her head to look at him.

"Nothing," he shrugs, "It's just…" his finger rests on a point where two currents cross, "I think that must be near where Scott and I were bitten…" he glances back to the map, "Oh," he says, then switches back to the other one, "Look," Stiles spots it first, "They match."

"What does?"

He jabs a finger at her dad's map under ultra-violet, pointing out the location of one of the murders and then tracking it across to Danny's map. The murder is up along Commerce Way and it lies directly along a yellow highlighted line that indicates a telluric current. "The telluric currents cross where the bodies have been taken and recovered," he whispers, "Or along the currents… so if we follow the currents we can find out where the next sacrifice will turn up."

"Okay, so…" Allison snatches Danny's map out of Stiles' hands, and grabs a pen, beginning to copy down her dad's symbols onto the map with the telluric currents. Stiles is right. They all lie along the currents, and gradually she sees the way they twist together. "Wow," she breathes, "It's like they all cross right in Beacon Hills."

"Like I said…" Stiles whispers, "The town is a literal Beacon." He shakes his head, "Even with this, it's impossible. We can't cover all this ground. The currents run all over the town…"

"We might not need to search the whole town," Allison breathes.

"What do you mean?"

"Lydia," she looks up but he obviously doesn't know. Not yet. Praying Lydia will forgive her, she tells him, "We went to see Peter?" she sees the instant wariness and ploughs on, "She's a banshee."

"A-- _what_?"

"A _banshee_."

"You mean like the Celtic--"

"Yeah."

"There is too much that's Celtic," Stiles frowns, "The druids, the sacrifices, now Lydia being a banshee…" he stops, frowning.

"Stiles?" Allison asks, "What is it?"

He tugs at her dad's map, sliding it off the desk slightly. It's an old desk - wooden with patterns set into it. She's never really looked at it before, but as Stiles mutters "Help me," she shifts a few books, allowing him to slide the map of the town out of the way to reveal the pattern spread out belong. The five circles inlaid wind over and around each other. There is one in the centre, and the others sit in a square around it.

She doesn't know what to think, "What does that mean?" she whispers, but she feels like she already knows.

"It's a five-fold knot," Stiles replies, tone dull, "Like these murders… it's a Celtic thing. Deaton said each fold of the knot represents something. The three virgins, the warriors… now healers…"

Without being prompted Allison follows a hunch and shines her UV light over the desk. In each circle of the knot in her dad's writing is a single word.

Virgins. Warriors. Healers. Philosophers. Guardians.

"Your dad is either the killer," Stiles whispers, "Or he's already five steps ahead of us in this investigation."

She laughs, "So much for staying out of the hunter life."

 

She mulls the name over in her head, then says it out loud for good measure.

Lydia wishes she was human, she thinks. They'd all been human to start with. Except maybe Malia and the Hales, but all of them had been bitten or turned.

Except Allison, and considering the hunter's code of honour that was probably a good thing.

She's a banshee. She has a name now, but looking at the piles of research everywhere it's not helpful. Not in the least. She doesn't know what is myth and what is fact. She doesn't know what she can do and what she can't.

There's another healer about to be taken. She knows that. That's a fact.

If she knew what she was doing maybe she could help. But she doesn't know. And she can't help. All she can do is sit there, feeling useless.

There are no voices screaming in her ears now.

 

They all spin around, gazes enraptured by the flashing red light. Scott's scent immediately turns sour with worry.

Derek mumbles something about how he's going to murder that thing, and Scott and Malia just turn to the door; claws out and ready for a fight--

"DEREK!" Kali's voice is a shouting snarl as she yanks the door open, "You better be here--" her gaze alights on them, her fangs curling into a languid smile as she spots Scott and Malia, "How _sweet_ ," she croons, "You're substituting in betas from other packs now, are you?"

Derek snarls. He doesn't even try to stop it and next to Scott; Malia's eyes flash an icy blue. Morrell was right, Malia thinks, they're coming after Derek.

Kali looks seconds from lunging and Derek looks all too happy to receive her when a calm voice once again breaks up the proceedings, like he's been taking his time. "Is fighting really how you want to do this, Kali?" Deucalion purrs from the doorway.

"Ennis is _dead_ ," Kali snarls, "He should know what it feels like to lose one of his own."

"I already do," Derek responds gruffly, "And you're going to pay!"

"Stop!"

Scott's an idiot, Malia thinks. She doesn't know why Stiles hangs out with him so often.

"Stop!" Scott says again, "Derek didn't kill Ennis."

"Oh," Kali's head tilts to the side, "That's okay. Once I'm done with Derek, I'll hunt down that little hunter pet of yours. I shouldn't have to go too far from the den to find her."

Now Scott's angry, growling low in his throat. He never lets the wolf flash the way Stiles does. He's more controlled, far more human, "We're not your enemies," he says, "We shouldn't be fighting each other, we should be teaming up to find out who is killing people!"

"You think we're scared of a druid picking some herbs and leaving a few bodies around? Why should that matter to us? The body count in this town is high enough already."

"Without us adding to it!" Scott's actually trying to talk out a peace. Malia lets the shift die slightly, turning to look at him. He stands tall and strong and this, this is why Stiles and Isaac and Cora all look up to him, she thinks.

Deucalion's eyeing him with a hungry expression. She doesn't think Scott or Derek sees it, but she does. She can smell the emotion like she could when she was a coyote. It's raw and visceral, and Deucalion might have been a good man once, but he's trying to be a general. He's trying to conduct a war when he can't even hold back the rabid dogs already under his possession.

"Are you proposing an _alliance_ , Scott?" Deucalion sounds amused.

"A truce," Scott says through gritted teeth.

Deucalion smells pleased. Kali looks like she's pissed, still seconds away from lunging at Derek but Deucalion moves in front of her. He isn't here to let Kali attack Derek, Malia realises. He's here for Scott. "How would that benefit me?" the alpha doesn't sound intrigued by it. Rather the opposite. He's amused. Bored.

It's like a game of chess that Stiles rattles on about so much. Malia barely understands the rules, but she gets that there are two players with different pieces that they move around the board.

She doesn't know who's playing for her side but she knows that Deucalion's just made his move. He and Kali might be outnumbered three to two, but they're far more skilled than they are.

"Whoever is killing these sacrifices is obviously a threat to you. Someone who is coming after you. So you want them gone sooner rather than later when they're all juiced up on power. And we want them gone so they stop killing people."

"I'm still seeing no benefits to this, Scott."

"Then what do you want?!"

It comes out as a shout. Derek looks startled and Malia turns to where Scott looks desperate. They're all desperate, she realises, ever since the motel they've been running on adrenaline and stress.

Deucalion smiles, like he's got them exactly where he wants them. "I think you already know the answer to that."

"Me," Scott breathes out shakily, "Dead."

Derek's head swings around in surprise, "Why?" he whispers.

"Braeden said…"

"I know what she said," Derek snaps, "I was there. Why does he want you?"

"I don't know!" Scott snaps, "Why don't you ask him?" he turns to Deucalion, "He thinks I'm a threat."

"Or a potential gain," Deucalion shrugs, "It's an interesting offer, Scott. How about I make one in return? You and Derek join my pack - and in turn I leave your friends alone?"

"I--" it's like the wind has been knocked out of Scott, "I can't--"

"No," Derek growls, "I don't want to be in your pack."

"You can't, Scott," Malia whispers, "You can't join him!"

Scott meets her gaze, like he's trying to think, to work it out…

"I'll give you some time to think it through," Deucalion says, gently pushing Kali back towards the door, "But time is something I'm afraid you don't have much of if you want to stop these murders."

Malia watches them leave. Nobody says anything and nobody makes any move to attack. Only once she hears the door at the bottom of the stairs slam does she relax, turning to where Scott and Derek are looking grim.

The alpha turns to Scott. "What are you doing, Scott?" Derek asks in a low voice, "Is this going to be like Gerard, again? Are you going to help him? You've gotta know that's crazy, right?"

Scott's frowning. Scott's frowning but he doesn't look panicked. Not now. Not anymore.

"I think…" he says, "I think I might have a plan. But we're going to need the others."

 

Isaac is studying in the library after school.

He doesn't like to intrude upon Melissa more than necessary and that's even assuming Scott was home. The last he had seen of the other beta, he had been heading off to his bike with Malia trailing behind. Isaac had been quite happy to avoid that bike again.

He had wondered if he should check on Allison. But Stiles was running off investigating leads and Isaac was really behind on his school work.

Being a werewolf might have helped with his health, but it didn't help with his knowledge.

He's engrossed in the hell that is chemical equations when Cora drops down beside him. It's soundless, and she doesn't even greet him. She just opens with a single sentence.

"I was in South America."

Isaac's head snaps up, and he doesn't dare say anything lest he interrupt her or do something to piss her off again.

"The fire happened during a family meet up. Laura and I were watching Derek's basketball game. I left early because the moon was making control hard. I… I got home just as the house caught fire and I… I panicked. I lost control and I ran. I woke up miles away, blood on my hands and a torn up deer nearby. That other night wasn't the first time I've run wild."

Isaac's throat feels heavy with all the words he can't say. It doesn't make sense - how did Cora even get to South America…

"Laura found me."

He blinks because that… he wasn't expecting that.

He's never met Laura. He arrived on this whole werewolf scene late when everything with Kate and Peter had already happened. He's only heard the stories and those are bad enough. He can't imagine living it. He can't imagine what Cora must have gone through…

"She found me and told me to run. She gave me money, some contacts and left. She took Derek and she left me. She said it was safer if they split up. Derek… Derek didn't know. Laura didn't tell him." Cora laughs, bitterly, "In a way I understand what Peter felt like, being abandoned. But I know why Laura did it. I… At first I went back to Beacon Hills. I just… I wanted to try and slip back in with everything, pretend nothing had ever happened…"

"What went wrong?"

"Hunters," Cora's voice is flat, "Isn't that always the problem? I got out. I took some of my stuff that they’d recovered from the house and took off. I really remember how exactly; I was only eleven. I ended up phoning one of the numbers Laura had given me and a week later I was on a flight to South America. And that's where I stayed. I changed my last name, I made nice with the pack, I kept my head down and I hid, waiting for the day Laura and Derek found out who started the fire so I could come back…"

Isaac doesn't know what she's feeling. He can't even begin to think…

"When I heard there was a Hale alpha I thought it was Laura. I wasn't expecting Derek, _hell_ , I wasn't expecting Peter or for them to drag the next generation of Beacon Hills into their feud. But at least Kate Argent is dead."

She's crying, Isaac realises belatedly. He hadn't noticed - Cora doesn't cry like other girls he knows. The tears well up but she doesn't sob, she doesn't sniff. She just lets them fall as if they're not even there and--

He's never seen someone so beautiful. Except at one point Lydia Martin. And maybe there was that time when he was crushing on Allison but that was before Stiles told him about the ring daggers she owned and--

He's kissing Cora before he even realises it. She tenses under him and then relaxes and he breaks away, their breaths mingling, "I'm sorry," he says, and he doesn't know if he's apologising for the kiss or what happened to her.

"It's okay," she says, eyeing him warily as if he might kiss her again but not looking totally adverse to the idea which is… that's good, right?

"I should…. I should go…" He makes to pull away but she grabs his hand, pulling him back.

"No," she says, "Stay."

He lets her pull him back to her, and she shifts so her back is to his chest and his arms wrap around her shoulders. He feels a little bit like he's being treated like a sofa, but he kind of likes it, so he doesn't complain. They don't say anything else. Cora isn't much for words - she seems to get that from Derek and Derek…

"Oh god," Isaac realises, "Derek is going to kill me."

Cora cranes her head around to see Isaac, and then very determinedly presses another kiss to his lips, "I won't let him," she promises.

That only slightly reassures him.


	17. Thorns

"You know I never really thought what would have happened if you hadn't believed me, back when I told you I was a werewolf."

"Stiles, you came home stinking of blood and your eyes glowed bright blue - you think I could just ignore that?"

Stiles slumps down on his sofa next to his father, shoulders rolling in a shrug. His dad peers over at him from where he's sitting at his desk with his glasses on, "I didn't want to tell you," he mumbles into his sleeve. He hopes his father can't hear but the moment he's said it and his dad looks sharply towards him he knows he can't take it back, "I didn’t want to drag you into any of this. It’s dangerous and I… I thought I could handle it."

"You're sixteen," his dad drops the paper and files he's perusing, "Okay, so you turned seventeen since, but at the time you were sixteen. You shouldn't have been going through any of that. In fact I'm still in half a mind to find Peter Hale and stick a bullet through his eyes."

"Woah," Stiles shouldn't be surprised at his dad's bloodthirsty reaction but he still is. He hastens to reassure his father, "It's okay. Lydia will be the first to Molotov him if something goes wrong, but at the moment he's actually being helpful."

"I thought he manipulated her into resurrecting him?"

"I think it might have something to do with Lydia being a banshee?"

"Oh, of course, banshee. Obviously."

"She asked Peter."

"Of course," the Sheriff says again, running a hand through his hair, looking down at the files. Stiles blinks, but he can't make them out from the angle he's sitting at, although from the worry in his dad's scent he thinks he already knows the problem.

"Did they find another body?"

His dad nods, lips pressed together.

"A healer?"

"Another doctor," his dad shoves his chair away from the desk, heading over to the sofa where Stiles is curled up and perching on the end, "Throat cut in and asphyxiated, but no ligature marks on the neck. It turns out that was because they were being hung from their wrists. With your arms above your head it makes it difficult to breath. Even more so with your full weight pulling you down and it means you have to physically pull yourself up to breath. After a time they obviously couldn't manage it."

"Where did you find it?"

"Why so curious? I mean, beyond the fact you're investigating into my murder cases because they're supernatural sacrifices? I really don't like you getting involved in this - we've already got half the state including the FBI coming in on this."

Stiles doesn't have the maps or pictures to explain with, but he knows his dad will follow along anyway. In a stray thought he wonders what his mom would think of all this - of the supernatural and him being a werewolf and-- "Telluric currents," he says, "All the bodies have been found along the telluric currents."

His dad stares at him blankly. "That means what?"

Stiles shrugs weakly, "We're hoping that with that and Lydia we should be able to predict where the next body is, and maybe we might be able to get there in time."

"Banshee?"

He nods, "That's what Peter implied."

His dad sighs, looking unhappy with that. "I'd rather know, Stiles," he says. Stiles can't pretend he doesn't know what his father is talking about. He remembers his dad's earlier question. "Despite what you did… no - what that monster made you do - I'd always rather know."

"I did do it, though," Stiles whispers, "Doesn't that make me a monster too?"

"Oh, _Stiles_ \--"

He flinches away from his dad's hug, because he doesn't deserve it. He can try and pretend that he made an attempt to stop Peter. He had tried to get the former-alpha to see reason but in the end he hadn't argued.

He'd do the same, he thinks. If it had been his family he'd do the same, even now, no matter how bloody it would end up.

He doesn't tell his dad this, and his dad doesn't ask. He just reaches out and rests one hand on Stiles' shoulder, repeating his answer, "Don't leave me out of the loop," he says, "I'd rather know. I don't know how I would have managed half of these supernatural crimes if I didn't know. Besides - I would never have found out about Malia and you would never have saved her."

Stiles smiles, "I guess one good thing came out of it."

"I don't know if it's good," the Sheriff scoffs, dropping his hand from Stiles' shoulder and leaning back, "I bought a spare toothbrush for her when I was shopping the other day without even thinking about it. I think she's moved in and I don't even know when."

They pause for half a second as Stiles tilts his head, listening to the upstairs floor, but there is nothing there. Not yet, at least.

"You should make her a key," the Sheriff shrugs, "I know she's having problems with her dad and if she wants to crash here she's welcome to."

"Oh…" Stiles bites his lip, "I uh…"

" _Stiles_ …"

"I may have already made her a key? I was trying to explain why she shouldn't use windows and I just…"

"Happened to make her a key. Why am I even surprised anymore?"

 

She finds the body.

It's really not surprising by now.

Allison looks like she wants to wrap her arms around Lydia and keep her safe. Scott just has this desperate look in his eyes that grows worse and worse every time she sees him, like the whole world is on his shoulders.

He's a seventeen year old boy.

No seventeen year old should look like that.

Stiles is past that. He's just tired and world weary, "So, banshee, huh?" he asks her as the cars pull up, "Where's the body?"

She gives a half-shrug, "I was at home," she says. At home, surrounded by books and research and-- "And then I was driving. When I pulled over I realised I was at the school so I… I called you."

"The school is on the currents," Allison says. Nearby Malia has a map out and she looks like she's about to mark the point when she pauses.

"So is the body actually here…?" Malia frowns, "Where is it?"

"You haven't actually found the dead body?" Stiles exclaims.

"Not yet."

"That sounds ominous," Scott can't help but say, "Like horror movie ominous."

Stiles throws up his hands, "Lydia - you're the one who is meant to find the dead body! You're the one with the--" he waves a hand, not knowing what to call it.

She shakes her head, adamantly. If she's going to do this, she's not going to do it alone, "Nu uh. I'm not doing that again. You find the dead body from now on."

"How am I meant to find the dead body when it's your job to find the dead body?"

"You think I want to be the one finding the dead body all the time?"

"We can try to see if we can smell the dead body," Malia suggests, helpful coyote that she is. Lydia shoots her a thankful smile.

"Uh… guys?" Scott's voice drifts up from where he's moved closer to the school, staring at something, "I found the dead body."

Lydia thinks that they've used the phrase 'dead body' far too much for it to make any sense any more. The words have lost meaning but the visceral image seared under her eyelids of the female deputy, pinned down on the school sign will always define it better than a dictionary ever could.

 

It wasn't meant to be like this.

Lydia's meant to be getting there before the bodies are dead.

Allison is on the phone to her dad. Or Isaac, since apparently her dad knows way more than he should about everything. Stiles is talking to his father and Lydia doesn't even flinch when Scott wraps one arm around her. "We'll work it out," he promises her, "Banshee or not, you've got us."

It's reassuring. It's what she needs to hear and she cuddles into Scott's warmth, "What are they saying?" she asks Scott, gesturing to the Sheriff and his son.

"They bringing the--"

"You can't bring the FBI into this, okay?" Stiles has actually moved the conversation back into audible range, "Not something supernatural like this!"

"There is protocol for this that I have to follow," the Sheriff hisses, "Don't tell me how to do my job, Stiles. Whoever this is - alpha werewolf or dark druid - they won't get away with killing one of my own deputies."

"This was Tara," Stiles sounds small. Like a child, "She used to help me with my math homework when I had to wait for you at the station. She… none of us are going to let this go unpunished…"

"Does this mean we're killing them?" Malia whispers in what is no way a whisper to Scott.

"No," Scott and Lydia correct her in unison.

"They've murdered people," Malia points out pragmatically.

"It just leads to more violence," Scott explains to her, "An endless cycle of revenge…"

"Like Peter," Malia says, and Lydia's stomach twists. Scott nods, but he doesn't get the meaning behind the words. He doesn't get why Malia suddenly looks so determined to be doing the right thing.

He doesn't get why Malia is so determined not to be like Peter, but Lydia does.

She meets the coyote's brown eyes for a moment before her attention is distracted by Stiles and the Sheriff's growing argument.

"We're three steps ahead of the department… and even lacking answers we're still closer to this than you."

"I can't pull out of this case, Stiles."

"Can you keep them off our backs?"

"So you can do investigating on your own? No way."

"Dad, if the pattern is right then two more people are going to die. And soon. And from the looks of it - guardians are coming up and I…" his voice wavers, "I don't want you to be in danger, dad. I can't lose you too."

It's the 'too' tacked on the end that makes Lydia want to look away. She feels like she's intruding.

The Sheriff gives up the argument, looking around at the five of them, "Try to stay away from the crime scenes. The more tips you call in, the more it looks like you know more than you should. Which you do… but…" he pauses, gaze resting on where Malia and Allison look like they're constructing a murder map, and just sighs, "Please just go. I don't want to have to arrest any of you. This is a big enough mess as it is."

"This might become a thing," Lydia warns him.

The Sheriff's reaction is the same as his son's, "Banshee?"

She answers with the same half-shrug.

It's as good an answer as any.

 

"You know if I had a month it still wouldn't be enough time for me to name all the reasons that this is a bad plan."

"Do you have anything better?"

Stiles looks at him. He looks tired. It's how Scott feels.

It's like the world is crashing down around him.

With a sigh his friend throws up his hands, conceding Scott's point, "No. No I don't. But it doesn't mean I like this one. What makes you think they know anything more than we do? If they did, don't you think they would have stopped this Darach by now? They just want to use you. Use you up and spit you out broken at the other end. It's what Peter did to me, it's what Gerard almost did to you before."

Scott is about to reply but Jennifer Blake chooses that moment to walk past. Their conversation halts as they spend the next few seconds pretending to do work before she stops across the classroom to help a student with something.

"They're after the alpha pack, right?" Scott asks, voice eager, "So they must want revenge for something. The alphas killed their packs… The werewolves, at least… but maybe they didn't kill their druids."

"You mean their emissaries? Didn't they kill their emissaries? I thought we established this."

"But what if they didn't?"

"They might not even have had emissaries. I mean… you don't have one."

"I'm not an alpha."

Stiles narrows his eyes and doesn't answer, "I guess Deaton is sort of your advisor in regards to things--"

"Are you kidding? He was the Hales' emissary. And his advice is cryptic - yours is often better than his."

"I'm a werewolf. I'm in your pack."

"Lydia?"

"She's a banshee. Or something."

"There's no rule that says banshees can't be emissaries," Scott argues, and behind him Lydia looks mildly appreciative of him.

"She's not a druid," Stiles argues, shooting her an apologetic look.

"She's our advisor. You both are - our planners, our thinkers, you work everything out."

"Then why can't we work this out? That's what I'm meant to do, isn't it? Work it out? I always work it out but I… I can't do this."

"I think you have," Scott whispers.

"You mean their emissaries?" Stiles frowns, "Haven't we already been through this idea? I came up with it, if I recall correctly."

Behind them Lydia rolls her eyes, "Well I hope you discounted it because they killed their whole packs. Including their emissaries."

"How do you know?" Stiles sneers, "Did Aiden tell you?"

"Logic," she shrugs.

"But what if they didn't?" Scott presses, "What if Stiles is right? What if the Darach used to be an emissary to one of the alphas?"

Both Stiles and Lydia turn to him. "I think…" Lydia says slowly, "I think that's the weirdest sentence that I've ever heard you say. And since we've become friends a lot of weird topics have come up in conversation."

"Does it matter?" Stiles hisses, "There is no way to check… is there?"

As one he and Scott turn to Lydia.

"Oh no," she says, "I don't even like the guy--" she stops when their English teach stops in the middle of the three of them.

"Lydia," Ms Blake smiles down at where Lydia looks like she's doing anything but making notes. She’s actually drawing a tree, "I wasn't aware you had so many hidden talents."

"You and every guy I've ever dated," Lydia, startled, still manages to come up with a flawless reply.

"An idiom. So you were listening…" Ms Blake steps forwards, "Idioms are phrases that only makes sense if you know key words. Saying 'jump the gun' is meaningful only if you know about the starting gun in a race, or a phrase like 'seeing the whole board.'"

"Chess."

Their teacher's smile thins slightly, "That's right, Stiles," she says, turning away to continue her lecture.

"I still think we're jumping the gun," Stiles says, staring after her and looking to Scott and Lydia, "But we need to do something and this… it's as good as anything."

Lydia and Scott nod grimly, and they're together in this. They're gonna work together and come out on top because that?

That is what they do best.

 

"I don't like the twins."

"Nobody likes the twins."

Isaac stares at Stiles suspiciously, waiting for the other shoe to drop. This can't be the whole plan. He thought Stiles and Scott were smarter than this.

But Stiles stays silent, staring at him expectantly and he shakes his head, "Oh no," he says, "No!"

"Come on!"

"No."

Stiles opens his mouth to complain when Cora appears, dumping her books down and opening to a page of her text book. She slides into a seat right next to Isaac and presses against him. Stiles wrinkles his nose a little at their mingled scents.

"Can we study?" Cora asks him.

"Now?" she didn't even ask Stiles, but he still answers, "We're trying to work out how to ask the twins about their emissaries and you want to study?"

"Well do you have a better plan?"

"No," the werewolf sounds annoyed, "I planned to use Danny, Scott planned to use Lydia and Lydia's not impressed with either."

"So until you come up with a better plan…" Cora turns to Isaac, ignoring Stiles completely, "So I'm a bit behind," she admits, "I spent one year on the run and another five in South America, remember?"

Isaac forgets that Stiles doesn't know, so both of them blink a little at the other wolf's double take, " _South America_?" Stiles gapes, "How did you get there?"

"Walked," Cora deadpans.

"Sure," Isaac agrees, "We can study."

 

Stiles lasts half an hour. Half an hour of Cora and Isaac making puppy dog eyes at each other.

Or rather, Isaac keeps shooting her glances and Cora keeps frowning at him as if she's considering eating him. Peter looked at him like that once, and Stiles wonders if she's actually Peter's secret daughter instead of Talia's.

He slips away from the duo and he swears they didn't even notice him. He tracks down Lydia by scent to the library where she is pretending to read a book on Advanced Physics. He knows she's pretending because the book is upside down and she keeps ogling passing freshmen.

"You know they're like, fourteen."

She looks really disappointed, "Then why do they all look so much older?" she laments, then glances at him, "You're not fourteen," she says, suggestively.

"Been there," Stiles shrugs, "Tried that."

She sighs, looking back down at her notes where she hasn't written a single thing. Instead she is idly skirting her pen over the page. "Isaac and Cora are studying," Stiles informs her. He obviously doesn't put enough emphasis on the word 'studying' because Lydia raises one unimpressed eyebrow.

"Well then why are you annoying my in the library instead of studying with them?"

"Trust me, I don't want to be studying with them."

"Huh," she hums, casting an appraising glance on her drawing.

"Nice tree," Stiles comments, then pauses, "Wait… isn't that the same tree? You were drawing one in English too."

"What do you mean the same?" she scoffs, "It's a tree. I like drawing trees."

He stares at the black pen lines, tracing them over in his head. He yanks her book from her, ignoring her alarmed cry and paging through it. Near the end there is another tree and he rips it out, again to Lydia's protests.

Holding them next to each other Stiles look up to see Lydia's expression.

She's horrified. Absolutely horrified.

"Coincidence?" she asks.

Once is an incident and twice is a coincidence. Three times…

Stiles digs out one of her other notebooks, and pages it open.

A smaller tree, same proportions and same twists in the branches. He turns the page. And keeps turning.

"Oh," Lydia's voice is small. She's terrified, her eyes wide and lips trembling. Gently she reaches out to take the ripped out drawing from Stiles, "I… I didn't even realise…"

"It's important," Stiles whispers, "It's important and we… we're so close…"

"Morrell," Lydia whispers, "We need to talk to Morrell. She's Deucalion's emissary, isn't she?"

"Come on!" Stiles grabs her bag, leaving Lydia with her books and pen, stumbling after him. He helps her close her bag up, and she grabs his warm fingers, tugging him down the corridor to the guidance office.

That's where they are heading - the guidance offices. Lydia's been there before and she knows where she's going. Stiles lets her lead, following after her, but then she turns down the wrong corridor, still pulling him and Stiles follows her, feeling a growing sense of dread in his chest.

Lydia should know where the guidance offices are.

That doesn't explain why she tugs Stiles into a history classroom, coming to a halt in front of the chalkboard. She's staring into space like she's barely aware that she's just standing there.

Stiles is loath to say anything. He's loathe to break the trance she is in but he can't just do nothing; "Lydia?" he asks gently.

She turns to look at him and there is a horrible knowledge in her eyes. "Stiles," she whispers.

"Yeah?"

"Cover your ears."

He barely manages to spin away from her, palms over his ears as an ear-splitter shriek rings out.

No, he thinks. Not a shriek. A wail.

The wail of a banshee.

 

"We don't have anything to say to you."

"Well tough," Malia growls. Actually growls. They've cornered the twins by the corridor outside the locker room and Scott didn't mean for them to be intimidating, but Malia has taken it into her head to be prepared. "We need to talk to you."

Scott wants to let his head fall into his hands. Stiles needs to introduce Malia to tact and subtlety and he needs to do it soon. "We just want to ask you a few questions. We're trying to help."

"Yeah?" Aiden practically bristles, "Well stop trying."

Ethan opens his mouth as if to protest, but is silence by a look from his brother. Aiden looks seconds from physically dragging his brother away or worse, lashing out, but he has the chance to do neither.

Because that is when Lydia screams.

It has to be Lydia. Scott hasn't heard anyone scream like that. It's piercing and it reaches into him on a level he didn't know sound could.

Malia's frowning at him as the sound fades, "Scott…" she begins hurriedly, "Scott… your eyes…"

"Was that Lydia?" Aiden moves down the corridor, and exchanging a glance - Malia and Scott are half-way down the corridor before the twins can even blink.

 

"Are you okay?"

"No," Lydia bats away Allison's helping hands, "No, I am not okay. The history teacher is missing."

"We can't say he's missing," their English teacher says behind them, "Just because he's not here…"

"He's missing, okay?" Lydia snaps, "I know he is. Now somebody get the Sheriff on the phone or I'm going to!"

"I believe you," Allison tells her, then turns to Ms Blake, "She's right - he's gone missing like the others."

"Like the oth--" Ms Blake presses her lips together and laughs weakly, "You think they're some sort of human sacrifices?"

Lydia crosses her arms defiantly, "So where did our substitute chemistry teacher go? Huh? Or the music teacher? And what about that kid they found on the cross-country track?"

"Lydia… _Lydia_ …" Stiles and Allison tug her back together. She fights them off half-heartedly and allows Allison to grab her arm to steady her.

"Are you sure?" Allison asks. That's all. Just three words and with one nod, Lydia has her best friend's support.

Stiles already knows. He got the full earful and he still looks partially deafened. Pounding footsteps signal Scott and Malia arriving.

"What happened? We heard the scream!" Malia looks with worried eyes to Lydia.

She shakes her head mutely and steps back, letting Stiles explain.

"A teacher and a deputy?" Allison frowns, "What's the pattern? That's not guardians or philosophers."

"Does it matter?" Lydia looks to the blank board, and blinks. For a moment she thinks she can see circles. Four, overlapping into what she knows is called a five-fold knot.

Celtic, she thinks, like banshees.

"I could find him," she says, "If I… I should be able to find him. Before he dies."

"Lydia…" Allison grabs her hand, "Lydia, if you can't - it's not your fault."

"But I should be able to do _something_!" she can't help the way her voice breaks, "What's the point of all this if I can't even… if I can't even…"

Before she knows it Allison is wrapping her up in a hug, "You'll work it out," the huntress steps back, "You're Lydia Martin. You're a genius who knows archaic Latin and could probably graduate by the end of this term if she wanted to. You're clever, Lydia, and you'll work it out. I believe in you."

Lydia had thought she could get through school with a clique of giggly, mindless girls. She had thought high school was all about popularity, being the top couple with the best boyfriend and the nicest hair and best fashion sense. She had cultivated an image of perfection and airless quality.

Now she had none of that. Except for the fashion sense; she had no boyfriend. She wasn't popular, and people still whispered about what happened last year. How she had befriended McCall and Stilinski and the next thing Jackson dumps her and she hosts the weirdest birthday party ever. Nobody looked at her and whispered 'that's Lydia Martin, queen of the school'.

But her friends looked at her with respect in their eyes. Teachers were whispering 'she's going to be valedictorian'.

And she had _friends_.

That in itself was amazing. She had friends - not flat, paper girls who were 50% make-up and giggles - but real friends who cared about her. Friends who trusted her and believed in her and…

Friends who would _die_ for her.

They're more than friends, she thinks. Family, maybe, but even that doesn't sound like it encompasses it all.

 _Pack_ , she decides. She has a Pack.

Yes, she thinks, that sounds right.

 

"See?" Scott hisses to Ethan as Ms Blake tries to work out where the history teacher has gone. It's looking like they're going to need some more new teachers at this rate, "This is why you need to help!"

"Why should I do that?" Ethan says, still being stubborn. Scott narrows his eyes and then just gestures to where Stiles looks like he's just brimming with blackmail material.

And indeed - he goes straight for Ethan's weak point. "I heard your brother threatening Danny. But you…" Stiles' face is gleeful, "You _like_ Danny. So surely you want us to find the thing that hurt Danny?"

Ethan's expression goes blank.

"I think I should warn you," Stiles hums, "That if you hurt him there is a werewolf in London who will eat you alive. And at least half a dozen here."

"I don't know anything!" Ethan hisses, "I don't know why you're even talking to me!"

"We want to know about your emissaries," Scott explains quickly and concisely.

"What about them?" Ethan sneers, "They're dead."

"All of them?"

"Except Deucalion's."

"You killed them?" Stiles sneers, and Ethan just narrows his eyes at him, "Kali and Ennis too? What was even the point? If you were alphas already why ditch your pack to join another one?"

Ethan shook his head violently, "You don't get it - unlike Kali and Ennis we weren't alphas."

"So what were you?" Malia frowns.

"Omegas."

"I thought omegas mean you have no pack," Malia sounds confused.

Ethan tilts one shoulder, "The lowest ranked then. Most packs don't have ranks. Ours did. In actual wolf packs omegas are the scapegoats; the last to eat, the ones who take the abuse and the insults and the beatings."

Stiles looks sceptical, "You and your twin can fuse into a super Voltron wolf and you let the others push you around?"

"We couldn't control it back then," Ethan explains.

"Deucalion taught you," Scott realises, "He saw potential in you and he taught you and then…"

"We killed them. All of them. Killing our alpha when we were fused meant we were both alphas afterwards. And Deucalion took us in--"

"What are you doing?" Aiden appears through the crowd, grabbing Ethan's shoulder. His face is creased in a glare, "What are you telling them?"

"Nothing!" Ethan shakes off his brother's hand.

"Are you helping them?"

Aiden looks seconds away from attacking, but freezes when Cora and Isaac step up to join the three already there.

"Come on!" Aiden grabs his twin, manhandling him away.

Malia stares after them looking unimpressed. She crosses her arms and turns to Scott, "Well that got us nowhere," she declares.

"We should talk to Morrell," Cora decides, "I'm gonna call Derek, let him know about what's going on…"

"No need," Allison appears, Lydia next to her and behind her is Derek, "Look who I found."

There was silence for a moment.

"Seriously," Stiles rolls his eyes, "You spend more time at this school than we do!"

Cora looks offended, "Were you following me?" she bristles like an angry cat, "Can I not even go to school without your supervision?"

Uncomfortable, Derek clears his throat, "I was checking we hadn't given your English teacher mental health problems," he says, "Apparently Argent didn't do a good job of explain how we're not going to eat her."

"Huh," Stiles says, "So that's why she's been acting funny around us in English."

Lydia rolls her eyes, "Maybe it was just because you're you."

Stiles pulls a face and Scott interrupts before the two can start bickering. Once that happens he doesn't stand a chance of getting a word in edgeways. "Can we get back to the issue at hand, please?"

"Sounds good," Cora says, "Are you dating her?"

"What?"

"Are you dating her? She's kind of hot. Or maybe you’re sleeping with her…"

"No, I've already explained to Malia how I'm not sleeping with your English teacher."

There's another awkward silence.

"Braeden then," Isaac bets.

"I-- what? No, she's not even in town, she had a job…"

"See? We don't even know when she vanishes, but she tells you…"

"Stiles?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut up."

"Noted," Stiles says, suddenly appearing aware that everyone is glaring at him. "So…" he turns back to Derek and Scott feels a train wreck coming on, "She's definitely a Hale. Your sister is like a carbon copy of you… albeit a kind of hotter girl version…"

Derek turns a glare of death on Stiles so strong it makes him step backwards in alarm. He swallows audibly, looking sufficiently terrified while Derek just looks… well… Derek only really has a limited facial range. His facial expression were usually 'dour' or 'terrifyingly dour'.

In turning to Stiles, Derek missed Isaac exchanging a shy smile with Cora in the background. Scott wondered if Derek would murder Isaac if he found out about their studying session.

"We'll go talk to Morrell," Cora gestures to herself and Isaac.

Lydia sighs, "I guess I'll… try my banshee thing."

"I'll help," Malia volunteers.

"We'll head out," Allison says, and Stiles steps up beside her, "See if we can track him down in town."

Scott nods in agreement, glancing at Derek, "We'll stay here," he says, "The recital is in a few hours… call us if anything - and I mean anything - happens."


	18. Serpent

Allison and Stiles take the jeep. They swing by Stiles' house to grab the map with the telluric currents on it, narrowing down their search window.

"Shouldn't we tell your dad?" Stiles pauses as he bundles the map up, "I mean… he's either investigating or he's killing, either way you getting involved might make him stop and include us."

Allison rubs at her chin with her palm, "He's not a killer," she whispers, "But he knows more than we do, so I don't know what else he could be."

"He could just be well prepared. Allison, he's a hunter, he might have dealt with stuff like this before."

Her laugh is slightly hysterical, "I’m the one who told him we should come back. We both wanted Deucalion, and now we're caught up with this Darach mess and neither of us are exactly keeping our promise to stop being a hunter."

"If it helps," Stiles offers, "I don't think being a hunter is something you just stop. Just like I can't stop being a werewolf. You're either born to it or… or you're bitten. You're drawn in. Like Scott. Like Derek. Like Cora and Malia and Lydia and I."

"And I," Allison lifts her chin up and there is a new light shining in her eyes, "Let's do this," she says, just as Isaac tumbles into Stiles's room through the window, almost giving the werewolf with supposed super-senses a heart attack.

"I have a front door! _Malia_ can even use it, so why can't you?!"

"We can't find Morrell," Isaac interrupts his complaints, "Maybe it's her?"

"Our _guidance_ _councillor_?" Stiles asks at the same time Allison chokes out, "My _French_ _teacher_?"

Isaac blinks, as if he's not sure who to answer.

Stiles narrows his eyes, "Hasn't anyone ever told you to pick up a phone?" he asks.

Isaac shrugs, "Cora sent me. Said you'd be better with someone to help you pick up scents and things." At Stiles' expression he adds, "Yeah, that's what I said."

"Well come on," Allison doesn't seem to mind, "But I call shotgun."

Isaac pouts, "Seriously," he grumbles to Stiles, "First I have to hitch a ride with Scott, then I have to climb into that thing you call a back-seat?"

"Don't insult Roscoe."

"You named your jeep 'Roscoe'?"

"Not the time, Isaac."

Stiles climbs in the driver's seat leaving Isaac to either clamber over Allison to get in the back, or to open the boot and slide in that way. Both are equally as awkward as the other and Isaac shoots Stiles a glare, before going for the former.

"I hate you, Stilinski," he mutters as he finally settles in the backseat.

"You claw up Roscoe I will end you," Stiles threatens.

Allison frowns, "You called your jeep ' _Roscoe'_?"

"Not the point."

 

Malia holds her phone like it's a lifeline. She pauses as the scents and sounds of the bustling hospital hits her and behind her Lydia almost walks into her.

"What are we even doing here?" Lydia asks, but there is relief pouring off her in waves. Relief that she doesn't have to stare at a blank piece of paper. Relief that she doesn't have to close her eyes and listen to something only she can hear.

Relief that they don't have to stare at the picture of a tree that Lydia had drawn, with no idea what it meant.

Malia wields her phone like a lifeline and an excuse, waving it in front of Lydia's face, "The Sheriff asked us to meet him here after he found out about the second teacher going missing. He thinks he might have worked something out."

A scent that smells almost like Scott, but more feminine wanders past, pausing and examining the pair of them, "Malia?" Melissa asks, "Lydia? What are you doing here?"

"Meeting up with the Sheriff."

"You too?" the nurse raises one eyebrow, "I didn't think… I mean…"

"Ah, there you are…" the Sheriff pushes his way through the crowds towards them. His gaze roves over them and he smiles, eyes softening at Malia and then Lydia.

It's how Malia wishes her adopted father would look at her, but doesn't. Not since she told him.

It's how she can only dream Peter, her real father would look at her, but in reality knows that's not going to happen. She's not sad about that. Not really.

It's how she wishes she was Stiles' sister. She wishes she was the Sheriff's daughter, adopted or not.

She wishes the Sheriff was her father.

"What do you want me to find for you?" Melissa asks, as she leads them to the records room.

"Something you mentioned to me actually. You said something about birds."

There is a brief pause as Melissa vanishes among the records to search for whatever it is that the Sheriff wants to look for. Lydia casts an appraising look around, "I didn't think you could look  through patient records without a warrant," she comments, idly.

"What's a warrant?" Malia asks, and that's when Melissa appears back.

Her scent has twisted into the same thing that permeates every member of the pack. Malia's becoming intimately familiar with it.

Anxiety.

"What is it?" she asks, as the Sheriff leafs through the brown hospital file.

"About eight years ago a woman was brought into the hospital half-dead. I was the one who found her in the woods near this massive tree trunk and brought her in. But that's not the interesting thing. The interesting thing is that while she was still struggling to survive, birds began flying into windows."

"Like at the school," Lydia frowns, "Hang on… did you say a tree trunk?" she glances up sharply, and Malia's nose wrinkles because she can't see how that's important. There are hundreds of tree trunks in the forest.

"I remember," Melissa nods, "Hundreds of birds were everywhere. They flew into doors and windows in some sort of mass suicide."

"Or mass sacrifice," the Sheriff says, darkly, and he stares down at the hospital file, then wordlessly shows it to Malia and Lydia, "Does this girl look familiar?"

Malia stares. There is something about it, but the human is so scarred up that she can't tell. Lydia however gasps and nods, weakly, "That's her: the Darach. You are one hell of a detective," Lydia compliments him, "I see where Stiles gets it from."

"Thank you, Lydia… are you… you're not looking so good, is something the matter?"

Lydia, in fact, looks really pale. Her hands are trembling and Malia has to grab onto the smaller red-head's shoulders to stop her from falling over.

"Woah!" Malia blinks, because Lydia has the same look in her eyes as she had when she had pronounced Malia's father as Peter Hale, "Steady!"

"What is it, Lydia?" the Sheriff frowns at her.

"I… I just feel… like I should be anywhere but here," she whispers, gaze distant.

And Malia knows what she needs to do, "So where do we need to go? Because we're going there. Now."

"The school," Lydia's voice doesn't waver, "I need to be at the school."

 

"We're running out of time," Allison says, looking at the sky outside.

"And places," Isaac has the map, and they've checked out most, if not all of the locations where the telluric currents cross. This is one of the few places left: it's an abandoned warehouse, because if there is anything Beacon Hills has in great quantities, then it is plenty of those.

The two werewolves go first, Allison bringing up the rear and this time she has a gun. Sooner or later, she thinks, she's going to have a weapon in each of her friend's car.

"A baseball bat?" Isaac asks Stiles dryly, "Really?"

"What's the matter? Jealous?" Stiles twirls the bat and all he succeeds in doing is almost braining himself in the head.

The warehouse looks empty. But they keep moving and they're only a few steps in when Stiles freezes, Isaac next to him. "I smell blood," Isaac says.

"And ozone," Stiles says, "I think we've got it…"

"FYI: if your dad tries to kill me - I'm gonna defend myself."

"If my dad tries to kill you," Allison reassures him, "You'll be dead."

"This is not gonna end well," Isaac mumbles.

There is a click and the two betas make a matched pair with glowing blue and yellow eyes as they turn. Behind them Allison sees a shadow, someone hanging and behind him a figure hidden beneath a dark drape--

The figure sees them approaching, eyes blazing white and an inhuman screech echoing out of it's mouth. It's a monster, Allison thinks, disfigured and…

No, she thinks, looking at the claw marks across the thing's face.

The two werewolves look about to run forwards but she's already a few steps ahead of them, spinning her ring dagger. "Allison!" one of them shouts, "Allison: wait!"

One of them - Isaac, she thinks - grabs her, tugging her to the side just as her dad's voice shouts out, "Get down!"

She ducks on instinct, and he's there, two guns out like some sort of western movie and pulling the trigger.

The thing screeches again, but the bullets hardly appear to daunt it. Her dad moves forwards, emptying the cartridges in a move that shouldn't work, but it does.

"Help him!" he shouts, still shooting off into the darkness.

Allison races forwards, going for the knots but Isaac grabs her.

"Don't bother," Stiles says as Chris drops his guns, glaring into the darkness where the Darach had last been. "He's already dead."

"That's Mr Westover," she whispers, pressing her hand over her mouth in horror, "I thought this was Guardians."

"No," Chris turns to them, "No, it's not Guardians."

"Philosophers," she realises.

Stiles nods, "That makes sense… Tara used to teach Middle School."

Chris' gaze is worried as he scans over the three of them, "You three shouldn't be here," he scolds them, and the anger in his voice makes Allison's stomach heave, "I almost had him."

Stiles and Isaac know better than to say anything, so she talks, "So it's my fault? No… no this isn't my fault. You've been lying to me for the past month, keeping secrets and going behind my back…"

"You want to start tallying up the lies?" Chris asks, grey eyes flickering to Isaac and Stiles, "Maybe you should go first."

"Maybe we should all stop lying," Isaac says, and they all turn to stare at him. He looks daunted by their gazes, but resolute as he continues, "We know it's Philosophers, right? So shouldn't we tell Scott? Someone should look out for the teachers."

Stiles frowns, turning to Isaac with his usual sarcastic comment, "There are dozens of teachers," he sneers, "How are we going to protect them all? They're all going home."

"No," Allison realises, "Not they're not. They're going to the recital."

Stiles sighs, "Someone needs to phone Scott."

 

Allison, Isaac and Stiles burst into the gym, and it probably would have been more dramatic if the concert hadn't even started yet, and with the bustling of people everywhere they go unnoticed. Chris is right behind them, and his posture is stiff like he's taking up guard.

"Anything?" Allison heads up to Derek and Scott who shake their heads in unison. Chris looks uncomfortable by how comfortable his daughter is with the werewolves, but says nothing, even as Cora moves towards Stiles and Isaac.

"Morrell is gone," she says with a shrug, "But the twins are here and they both look nervous." She tilts her head to one side, and Stiles follows the direction to where the pair sit next to each other. Ethan has a slightly soppy smile on his face as he looks towards Danny while Aiden looks like he swallowed something sour.

"Where's Malia and Lydia?" he asks, because he knows already they're not in the nearby vicinity.

Cora shakes her head, "They went to look some stuff up. I don't know. This… we're another dead teacher down and soon to be another one."

Stiles cranes his neck around her to the various teachers he can see about the hall. He can't smell anything wrong. There is no ozone, no woody scent of the forest.

Not yet.

"Maybe we can't do this," Cora whispers, looking nervous, "You know for a moment I thought you guys actually had a handle on this. But you… none of you know what you're doing, do you?"

"We," Isaac says, but it's hesitant and cautious, "I thought you were with us now?"

Stiles feels like he's intruding, even more so when Cora and Isaac gaze at each other for several long seconds. He clears his throat but they ignore him.

"I am," Cora says eventually, " _We._  I like the sound of that."

Stiles makes to step away, but that's when Derek appears, looking like a raincloud drifting across their small patch of sunshine, "Scott told me the plan," he says, "I don't like it."

"Nobody likes it," Stiles shares with the alpha, "But unless you have something better it's what we're going with for now."

"Shhh!" someone hisses at them, "The concert is about to start."

 

The rest of the school is dark. There is a small collection of lights near the one corner but the rest is completely empty.

"I thought they were going after teachers," the Sheriff whispers to Malia, "So where is Lydia going?"

The strawberry-blonde's eyes are out of focus and she's walking with determination. Her destination is unknown, but her head is cocked slightly to one side as if listening to something.

Malia pulls her phone out of her pocket, trying to phone Stiles and tell him what's going on. Her phone flashes at her that it has no signal.

Outside there is a low growl of approaching thunder.

"There's a storm coming," she says, nose twitching. Her instincts urge her to bunk down in a den, hide and wait for it to be over.

"I think it's already here," the Sheriff sounds grave, and he pulls out his gun. "Go get the others."

"But what about you?" Malia protests, "You're not supernatural."

"No, but I'm a mean shot and I've been protecting the town since before you were born. I can last ten minutes without you."

Malia glances once at the man, then at the banshee who is still walking, turning corners and not stopping. She's going to find something soon, be it a dead body or something else…

Malia doesn't wait to find out.

She takes off running down the corridor.

 

The concert would probably be pleasant to listen to if Stiles didn't have super-senses.

It still is rather pleasant. But he finds himself wincing at every flat or out of tune note. "That third trombone has to go," he mutters bitterly to Scott, trying to ease the tension.

It doesn't help.

He stands near the back, feeling like some sort of security guard which is every sort of ironic with his lanky frame and plaid shirt. He's also near the doors, but that's more instinct than anything else. It allows him to hear the pounding footsteps of someone running down the corridor towards them.

He's moving before Scott hears it, stepping out and scenting the air, relaxing as he recognises the scent.

"Stiles!" Malia crashes into the doorway in a whirl of long hair and wide brown eyes that flicker blue and back to soft brown, "Stiles! Lydia's sensed something! The Darach is here; right now…"

Stiles is moving before she's even finished, and Scott follows with a lag, "Why didn't you phone?" Stiles asks and Malia waves her phone.

The shake of her head is pathetic, "I did. I tried," her voice is quiet, "Like you showed me but… there's no signal."

"Are you kidding?" Stiles snatches up her phone, "The school always has sig--" his words die as he sees her phone, the signal bar dead. Pulling out his own and seeing Scott do the same only confirms it. "What the hell?" he asks.

"She's here. The Darach," Malia says.

Scott immediately does a full 360 of the area, "I can't see anything. Anyone."

Stiles' head tilts to one side, "She?" he asks, picking up the change in gender. Without really thinking about it, they've been referring to the Darach as a male. But the change in pronoun means they know who it is.

And like he expects, Malia nods. With Stiles and Scott staring at her expectantly, she takes her phone back from Stiles, finding a picture to show them, "Here," she says, "A woman called Julia Baccarri."

"Who the hell is that?" Stiles sneers, seconds before he realises it. "JB." He stares at the initials, "Oh god."

"JB?" Scott is frowning, and Stiles grabs his friend's shoulder, not even realising that his claws are out and he's digging his hand in too deep. Too deep and too tight and--

"The school," he whispers, "It's on a crossing point of telluric currents. Three sacrifices have already vanished from here and now there's a forth… and all the teachers are here because this recital was organised. By…"

"By Ms Blake…" Scott realises, eyes widening, "Jennifer Blake. JB. Stiles? Stiles - no - wait!" Stiles' claws tear sharply out of his friend's shoulder and before Malia can stop him he's throwing himself down the corridor, "Stiles!" Scott shouts after him.

"My dad's there!" Stiles shouts over his shoulder, pausing for half a second, "And Lydia!"

Whatever Scott was going to say next is drowned out by the piercing scream that shatters the silence of the night.

Seconds later it's echoed tenfold as a piano string snaps and the sharp tang of blood hits Stiles' senses.

 

It's sudden. Allison barely even notices at first. It's Isaac and Cora's reaction that has her spinning around just as the first scream echoes throughout the gym.

With a crash the piano had been plunging deeper and deeper into what felt like a black pit, and it's with that crash that the string breaks. It's already across the teacher's throat when Allison turns, the string snapping out like a blade and just as lethal.

The teacher drops, choking. Chairs scrape and with varying degrees of noise the orchestra grinds to a halt, shock ripple outwards like a sound wave tearing through the crowd.

"Did you hear that?" Cora whispers.

"Lydia," Isaac says, "Lydia screamed."

Allison fights her way forwards, and her dad tries to intercept, but she's already there, by the stage and seeing the teacher's bloody body.

There is no point in trying to help her.

She's already dead.

And in her mouth, mixed with the blood, are white translucent balls of mistletoe.

 

Somewhere Lydia screams and a teacher dies.

Somewhere Lydia screams and Scott, Stiles and Malia are half-way out of the room already running towards her.

"Did you hear that?" Cora whispers, as Allison shoves her way to the front of the hall. Allison pushes, elbows, even kicks someone aside so she can be at the front to see the body.

Cora hears the whisper even though the screams and panic of everyone there, "Mistletoe," Allison says, looking back towards them.

"Come on!" Chris grabs Allison, "Allison, we need to go--"

"No!" Allison wrenches her arm out of her dad's grip in a movement that must be painful, "No! I have to help."

Cora's attention is drawn away from their conversation by Derek doing almost exactly what Chris had just tried to do to Allison. Except Cora manages to duck away from his grip.

"Cora," Derek says, staring at her with worried eyes, "We need to leave."

"Why?" she asks, sticking her chin out stubbornly, "We have stuff to do."

"We?" Derek frowns, "Since when has there been a 'we'?" and he pauses, gaze flickering to where Cora is steadily backing away until Isaac is next to her. She reaches out, locking their fingers together. She can smell his nerves, but she keeps up her glare at Derek.

"Since now," she says, "Since I came home. And I'm not leaving this easily."

"I'm not asking you to leave," Derek pleads with her, "People are dying! I want you out of danger! I want you safe."

"I can't go with you, Derek," Cora whispers, "I can't."

"Why not?" he sounds frustrated, "I'm your brother… you can't even live in the same building as me! Why don't you trust me?"

"Because _LAURA DIDN'T TRUST YOU!_ " the cry is torn from her throat, "Okay?" she shouts, pressing against Isaac as she shakes, watching as Derek, her brother who has remained so detached, so calm and composed… she watches as he breaks with those words, "Laura found me after the fire. She gave me money. She gave me an address and a phone and her number. She told me it would be safer to split up. She told me not to tell anyone: that it would be better to let them think I had died. I thought she hadn't told you for my safety; what I didn't realised was she didn't trust you not to let another _hunter_ into your _bed_."

"You _know_ \--" Derek chokes on his words.

"Peter told me," Cora says, feeling empty, "But you know Peter. He tells the truth but manipulates the situation. So I had Allison fill me in on the rest."

She hates the look on his face. She hates the way that even though she's seen the physical wounds the alphas had given him, the emotional ones by his own sister hurt far worse. They cut far deeper and Cora…

Cora doesn't know what to do anymore. She doesn't know where to turn except--

Except that's a lie. She's pressed against Isaac. Chris and Allison are fighting their way through the crowd back to them, both looking like they're prepared to kill something. Somewhere Scott and Stiles and Malia and Lydia are trying to do something and Cora…

Cora thinks she might have found a pack.

But it's not her brother's pack.

Ah, she thinks, no wonder they want Scott.

 

It leaves her feeling hoarse. The screams always do, but this one is worse.

It might be because of the wire twisted around her throat.

Lydia's fingers clutch in vain at the wire, and even as she feels her limbs weaken from the force of her scream she doesn't let go.

"Unbelievable."

She steps around into Lydia's view with slow, measured steps. Her brown eyes are creased in a frown and she stops, gaze focussed on Lydia with shock and awe and - is that fear?

Lydia would talk if she could form the words. Her throat feels bruised - that is definitely going to mark. She settles for glaring. She's been told by Stiles that it is a fearsome thing, the wrath of Lydia Martin, and indeed Jennifer Blake's lips press together a little tighter.

"You're a banshee," she accuses, voice sharp, "No wonder you've been getting in the way at every step. They call to you, don't they? You; the wailing woman who screams for deaths relating to the supernatural." She laughs, throwing back her head in genuine surprise, "And here I thought you were just a girl who knew too much."

"Let her go," the Sheriff grunts out from behind the English teacher. Lydia's English teacher.

Her _fucking_ English teacher.

Lydia really wants to switch schools, but she has to admit that none of them saw this coming. It's not like she had done anything odd or strange. If anything she was a good teacher.

She just had a vendetta in play.

The Sheriff is tied up. There's a head wound on his head that was trickling blood but now it's stopped. Lydia had barely made it into the classroom before she had been hit. The Sheriff had followed, and woman or not, she had strength behind her. The strength of warriors.

"Let her go," the Sheriff says again.

Jennifer sighs, "Maybe I should - after all if you know, all your little friends probably know as well. Who will be knocking on my door first? Scott? Stiles?" her tone is sneering as she glances back at the Sheriff, "Surprised to see you here, though, Sheriff."

"Not as surprised as I am that you survived," the Sheriff sounds tired. Probably from being knocked out. "The last time I saw you it was when the ambulance found you in the woods with your face and body slashed up."

"Slashed up?" Jennifer repeats, disbelief in her voice, "SLASHED UP? If you think that's what happened then you're underestimating the alphas. She left me to die!"

"Kali," Lydia whispers. It's the only female alpha…

"That's right, I forget. You're the genius, after all."

"And you're the one killing people," the Sheriff snaps out.

"Killing… no!" the teacher sounds disgusted, "Sacrifices! Of course, none of you have a good understanding of that word.

"It's derived from the Latin ' _sacrificium':_ an offering to a deity, a sacred rite. A necessary evil. They have already given me… so much…" her voice is awestruck. In wonder. Lydia tries to reach down for where her legs are tied to the chair but they're zip-ties, and her nails scrabble for purchase. "They give their life to her. And I take her power. From Virgins, Warriors, Healers, Philosophers…" she pauses, turning fully away from Lydia now to examine the Sheriff. Her smile is languid, content and triumphant all in one. "And Guardians," she says.

Lydia screams again. Not a wordless wail this time. She calls out a name, "SCOTT!" she shouts as loud as she can, "STILES! ALLISON!"

If they are near then they'll come running.

She's not expecting the door to crash open almost immediately after their names fall off her lips.

Jennifer whirls around and quicker and faster than she should, she grabs the Sheriff, tugging him to his feet as a shield. Stiles is first. Because of course he is. He almost breaks the door off it's hinges getting in. Malia's right behind him, but Scott slides past the coyote at the last second. He gets a desk slammed into his chest for his trouble, the door slamming on the hapless coyote.

"Lydia!" she can see Malia mouth through the locked door, eyes wide and panicked. Stiles skids clumsily across the classroom towards her, his claws out and breaking open the zip-locks.

"Are you okay?" he asks, but he's not even looking at her.

She can't talk. Not well at least. But she's with it enough to turn towards where Jennifer is dragging the Sheriff backwards.

"Dad!" Stiles makes it two steps before with a snarl Jennifer swipes one hand out to the side. Her eyes blaze a brilliant, blazing white. It's like the full moon is shining in her gaze.

The desks fly towards them. It's like the birds all over again. Lydia drops to the ground, and she feels Stiles grab onto her; protecting her from the flying wood and metal.

There is a crash. Not just as the desks are thrown telekinetically across the classroom at them, but a crash of glass as something breaks.

With a roar Scott shoves the teacher’s desk away from him, staggering to where Stiles and Lydia are stranded in a sea of tables. Stiles is already up, fighting his way out and then drawing to a sudden and abrupt halt.

He's staring at something on the floor. Two things, actually.

His dad's gun, and a broken, slightly mangled Sheriff's badge.

His father and Jennifer Blake are gone.


	19. Storm

Derek returns to his loft.

Because that's how it is now, he thinks. Boyd's dead. Erica's gone. Isaac left him for Scott. Cora left him for Isaac.

He's an alpha without a pack, but he can't find it in himself to be angry, or even sad. It's been a long time coming, he thinks.

He's a pretty shitty alpha.

He needs to help Scott, he thinks. He needs to turn around and walk back to find the teenager and offer help. He needs to stop hiding and running away.

Footsteps behind him have him whirling around. For a moment he doesn't recognise the woman there, but then he does. Her brown hair curls over her shoulder and her eyes are wide, "Derek," she whispers, "You need to help me."

"Jennifer?" he asks, frowning slightly at the form of the woman he had killed Boyd to save. He feels sick.

He had killed Boyd to save her and she…

"You have to help me," he notes how it changes from 'need' to 'have to'. She sounds desperate. She sounds worried and scared and smells terrified, but it's all an act, all a façade…

"If I help you," he says carefully, "Will you give Stiles his father back?"

He watches her expression fall. He watches as her acting takes on a different tack, as she tries to appeal to him as her saviour again, "Scott told you," she says, sounding panicked, "What lies did he tell you? That I'm the one taking people?"

"Killing people," Derek corrects her.

"Committing human sacrifices?" she sneers, "Sure, I do it on my lunch break so I can go back to teaching high school English the rest of the day." She shakes her head, "It's not like that, Derek. You helped me once - you saved me before, now help me again."

He shakes his head slowly, "I'm not helping you kill people."

"It's not…" she stops, as if realising her story is falling through, "Derek, please…"

He wonders why she came to him. He wonders why she's asking this of him and almost as soon as he's thought it he realises the answer.

He's an alpha. The alpha pack will be after her now, just like they're after him. She wants to use him to protect herself, but Derek… Derek can use her too.

He moves, and she doesn't do anything, just lets his hand slot around her throat as lift her up, claws just pricking the skin of her neck, "Derek, please, listen to me…"

"Where's Stilinski?" he asks through a growl, "What did you do to him?"

"If you kill me you'll never find him," she knows she has the upper hand, despite Derek's claws are her throat. She knows he can't kill her and she's not even scared. With a half-growl, half-shout he throws her down to the cold floor of the loft where she sprawls, lips curling into a triumphant grin, "That's right," she says, "You need me. And I need you."

 

"I don't need a hospital."

Maybe Stiles would be more convinced if she didn't just sound like she had severe laryngitis. Her throat aches and the edge of her hair line where Jennifer had knocked her unconscious is bloody. She might have a concussion but she's not sure.

Her argument is so weak that nobody even bothers arguing with her. Cora and Isaac are squashed into the back-seat and Stiles drives, eyes fixed grimly on the road ahead looking like he's struggling to keep control. His eyes keep flickering blue and she wonders if he even knows it.

He looks seconds away from either falling into pieces himself, or from ripping someone else into bloody chunks.

"The storm's getting pretty bad," Isaac says from the backseat, "Can this old wreck make it?"

"Don't insult Roscoe," Stiles bites out.

"It's really creepy when you talk to your car," Cora remarks, and Stiles glares at her in the rear view mirror. Lydia wishes he'd keep his eyes on the road because Isaac is right - the storm is getting really bad. As they pull up to the hospital it's to twenty cars and ambulances pulling away. She peers around, taking in the chaos at the front entrance.

"You should have gone to the hospital downtown," Isaac says, "They look like they're evacuating due to the storm."

"I'm not driving downtown," Stiles snaps out, almost biting Isaac's head off, "There isn't time and my dad…" he cuts himself off as he pulls up his jeep into an empty spot, one of the ones usually reserved for doctors but they're all gone now. The worry is evident in his body language and his expression. He doesn't finish the sentence because it doesn't need finishing. _'My dad could be dead.'_ _'My dad could be strung up right now as a human sacrifice.'_

He can't be dead. Not yet. Lydia hasn't screamed.

Lydia hasn't screamed. _Yet_. But her throat aches and she can barely talk and she wonders if she even can anymore.

 

Scott gets there right after them, pulling up on his bike and tugging his keys out. It's pouring with rain, and Stiles' hair is plastered to his face. He looks half wild, like he's seconds away from another killing spree. Scott thinks helping Lydia is the only thing keeping him anchored.

"Derek's got her," he shouts through the rain as Cora and Isaac stumble up, Isaac holding his jacket over her like a gentleman, "He's bringing her here."

"He's what?" Stiles snarls, eyes flaring blue in the darkness.

"Stiles," Scott snaps, letting his own eyes flare in warning at his friend. Keeping his voice low he holds Stiles' attention as he says, "Remember the plan."

Stiles has flinched back and now he freezes, staring at Scott with something that looks like a cross between surprise and awe. It's a funny look and it makes Scott uncomfortable.

"What is it?" he asks.

Stiles shakes his head, blinking like he imagined it, but then seems to shrug it off and just blurts it out, "It's just… for a minute there I thought your eyes were red."

Which is stupid.

Because Scott isn't an alpha. Is he?

"Come on!" Isaac shouts, giving up being a gentleman to Cora in favour of helping Lydia inside. Stiles loses focus for a second and then regains it with a startling clarity, spinning around and bounding up the stairs. "Why do you have that bat?" Isaac frowns.

"Because I like my bat," Stiles snaps back, and Scott's about to follow them when Cora grabs hold of his jacket, "Scott!" she says, and she's staring at his eyes with the same expression Stiles had. "Scott, your eyes were red."

"That's impossible," he says. She must have been imaging it; she and his best friend both.

"No," she says, rain turning her auburn hair dark brown as it streams down her face, "No, Scott it isn't. It's _you_. It's you they want. The _alphas_."

He frowns because he knows that, that's why they've got this plan… "I know _that_."

"No, they want you because you're an _alpha_."

He freezes, eyes widening, "No," he shakes his head, "No, I'm _not_."

"You are. _Stiles_ sees it. _Isaac_ sees it. Lydia and Allison and Malia and even I can see it. Your eyes still burn gold, but they won't for long."

"How does that… I'm not an alpha… I'm a beta… not even a beta, an _omega_ …"

Cora laughs, "Whose heard of an omega who leads a pack?" she curls her lips, "No, listen to me. They are something rare. It doesn't happen that often, but it can. I think it's happening to you. The alpha power normally gets passed down through family lines, or if they're killed by whoever killed them. It's constant. But the number of packs changes all the time, so new alphas are created. In large families they're sometimes born. Or in bitten wolves… like you… they rise to the power. But they're _rare_. They are so, _so rare_. They're like unicorns, they're not actually meant to be real, but they are."

"What is it?" Scott sounds scared. Not scared.

"They call you a true alpha. It doesn't mean much, but you're an alpha and you won't have to kill to get it. It's your rightful power, all you have to do is claim it. It's your _pack_ and _you_ who make that power. Your _strength_ , your _kindness_ , your _will-power_. It's already in you, Scott, you don't have to do anything. It will come to you. Just don't let it go. Don't let Deucalion crush it. Because you? You're the sort of alpha I came back to Beacon Hills for. It's _your_ pack I want to join."

"For Isaac?" Scott asks.

She nods, slightly hesitantly, "Mostly, I guess. But because Beacon Hills is my home. And I don't want to leave."

"Hopefully," Scott says, "None of us will." His hand finds hers and he tugs her to the warmth of the hospital, out of the rain, "Come on," he says, apprehension churning in his stomach, and they head inside to find his pack.

His pack.

It's never felt so right.

 

Cora and Scott find the other three in one of the patient rooms. Melissa is chiding them in a gentle voice, even while she looks Lydia over with a caring eye that practically makes Scott swell with pride next to her. No wonder he's such a good person, Cora thinks, with a mother like Melissa who wouldn't be.

"We're supposed to be clearing the building," Melissa scolds, shining a light in Lydia's eyes to check for a concussion, "Why didn't you go to the other hospital?"

"In this storm?" Isaac surprisingly explains Stiles' reasons for him. Maybe it's because the blue-eyed werewolf looks seconds away from clawing up something. "That piece of metal Stiles calls a jeep wouldn't have made it. Besides - she has Stilinski - we don't have time to be driving to hospitals and Lydia said she was okay…"

"Okay?" Melissa raises one sceptical eyebrow, "Honey, you almost got strangled…"

Lydia makes a face and something tells Cora she'd be protesting was her throat not so badly bruised.

Scott's phone beeps and everybody with supernatural hearing turns to look at him. His heart picks up ever so slightly.

"Is that--" Stiles reminds her of Peter in those few seconds, eyes flashing and steely determination plastered over his face.

"Derek's here," Scott nods, "I'll go and meet him. You stay here."

"You're not going on your own," Stiles argues.

"I'll go," Isaac volunteers, and Scott doesn't argue. No doubt he wants Stiles and Lydia far away from the Darach. Cora meets Isaac's gaze for a second, and she nods, letting him slide out of the room past her.

"We'll meet you back here," Scott says.

"Scott, the hospital is evacuating… the last ambulance leaves in twenty minutes…"

"Good," he says, sounding like he's pleased with that, "That means less people are around to get hurt."

"Get hurt…"

"The alphas are going to come," Cora explains, "They're going to come for Jennifer."

"And you're helping her because…"

"Because she knows where my dad is," Stiles says, fingers tapping his baseball bat nervously, "She knows where my dad is and we… we need her."

Melissa's eyes are drawn to the bat, "Is that my baseball bat?"

He shakes his head, "No, I bought my own, I also got you a new one - it's under Scott's bed."

"Dude," Scott sounds really happy, like a puppy who has just been given a new toy at Christmas, "Thanks!" he shoots his friend a beaming smile and for a moment Cora doubts herself. This is the true alpha?

She frowns, "Are they always like that?"

"It's Scott and Stiles," Lydia huffs, voice weak, "Don't try to apply logic to those two."

Scott vanishes around the corner and Melissa finishes dabbing a salve on Lydia's bruises. She leans back, face crumpling because there is nothing more she can do to help. All she can do is sit there while her kids run around trying to fix everything.

A shadow appears at the door and the two werewolves are on their feet in seconds. Stiles relaxes first, if relax is even the right word.

"I thought he was dead," Melissa sounds aghast, staring at Peter Hale.

Peter just shuffles backwards, as if hiding in the shadows will hide him from view, "I get that a lot, actually," he mutters under his breath, turning to Cora, "The alphas are here."

"Already?"

Peter's about to reply when something grabs his attention. His head turns to one side, and Stiles makes a jolt forwards as if to help before remembering who it is. In that moment something grabs Peter, and Cora watches as her uncle goes flying down the corridor.

"Time to go," Stiles says, grabbing Lydia's hand, "Nice seeing you, Melissa, you should - uh - probably get out of here… bye!"

"Wha-- Stiles, wait…"

None of them stick around. Cora, Stiles and Lydia burst out onto the corridor before they end up trapped in a tiny room by an alpha werewolf. They almost walk straight into where the twins stand merged and growling at the corridor where Peter is lying looking fed up with his life.

Cora goes straight for the twins, and Stiles and Lydia run to Peter, tugging him up. They knock her back with a snarl and eyes gleaming maliciously at her. But… maybe it's her imagination, but the twins don't hit as hard as they could. "Aiden," she hears Lydia scream down the corridor, "Ethan, don't!"

They let her go. That is; if 'let go' means throw her to the ground. Her head knocks against the wall, making her dizzy. Peter grabs her, tugging her up.

"The lift!" he says, and she staggers up, running down the corridor after the others.

Her head aches and she feels slightly ill. Her head is spinning and she hasn't felt like this since she last had an anxiety attack some four months ago when she got stuffed into a bank vault.

Well, she thinks, at least coming home has been exciting.

 

"Scott," Jennifer Blake greets him like she's still teaching him high school English, like she's still being supportive and concerned over his grade.

Scott greets her with silence, ignoring her entirely and turning to Derek, "You brought her here?" he asks, "Why?"

"Where else was I meant to take her?" Derek asks, frustration evident in his voice, "I wasn't going to leave her at my loft. The alphas know where that is and besides…" he doesn't finish the sentence but Scott can almost hear the 'but what if she murders someone' in his voice.

And at least while Jennifer is here she's not murdering Stiles' dad. At least while she's here she's not kidnapping someone else.

A howl rings out, interrupting further conversation.

"The alphas…" Jennifer looks worried.

"Come on," Scott gestures, to the hospital, "We need a plan."

It's not looking welcoming anymore. The hospital is dark and the power's gone.

"Are you sure about this?" Derek deadpans.

"Yes," Scott says, because somebody has to believe.

 

They crash around the corridor in a tangle of limbs. Lydia thinks that’s mostly Stiles, who flails a lot when he runs.

"I thought you were meant to be a werewolf," Cora shoves Stiles off her and down the corridor, the alpha twins conjoined body thundering after them.

"Stiles does have moment of extreme competence," Peter admits, jogging after him.

"They're very rare," Lydia adds.

"The elevator!" Stiles says, gesturing Lydia towards it. She reaches it, slamming the button but nothing happens.

"Allow me," Peter practically purrs in her ear, and she steps aside, allowing him to slot his claws into the metal and force it apart with a horrible screech. Lydia doesn't care. Behind her Stiles and Cora take half a second to throw a fire extinguisher at the twins. It hits them in the head and Lydia can swear she hears it ringing. Both have glowing eyes and fangs.

"Come on!" she shouts, and Cora ditches first, spinning around and leaping for the elevator. Stiles pauses to lash out with his baseball bat and the impact of it actually appears to stun them for a second.

Cora skids up to her uncle, looking like she's fully prepared to dive straight into the life head first. She moves past Peter and that's when Lydia sees it.

"Woah!" Peter narrowly avoids falling straight down. Lydia's almost disappointed. The lift doors are open but the lift isn't there.

The lights above her head flicker as the storm rages outside.

"What…" Stiles skids to a halt, almost tripping straight past them into the elevator shaft, "Uh, not good," he says, abruptly, glancing up to where Lydia can see the unmoving elevator. His shoulders sink.

Peter roars. His eyes light up blue and his claws flash out and for a moment Lydia wonders if they can trick the alpha twins into falling down there. Stiles' own eyes flare blue and he goes back to help Peter with the twins, but Cora stays unmoving.

"Cora?" she asks, frowning at the other girl. The auburn haired werewolf looks pale. Slightly ill. There is blood trickling from a head wound. "Cora?"

Cora coughs, hacking up a mouthful of something Lydia already knows to be mistletoe in black blood, "Lydia?" Cora whispers, staring at the stuff in her palm, "I feel…"

Cora doesn't finish the sentence. "No!" Lydia lunges as she doubles over, but her fingers snatch on thin air as Cora topples over the side, leaving Lydia skidding near the open door, grasping for a hand hold before she follows the gold-eyed beta down. Bruised throat or not, Lydia screams; "CORA!"

 

"She was coughing mistletoe," Lydia's in near hysterics, "I couldn't catch her…"

Peter actually looks almost sad. But there's no time for that because with a roar Ethan and Aiden's fist crashes into the plaster near their heads. The elevator beeps, and Lydia scrambles back, away from the twins and from where had she been a second slower, she would have been clipped by the now plummeting elevator.

Peter grabs Lydia and Stiles both, tugging them out of the way and straight towards a nearby laundry shoot.

Stiles doesn't even think, going in head first. In retrospect he's lucky there's a basket at the other end filled with sheets, because otherwise he would have landed head first on the floor. Sure he's a werewolf and he'd heal but it's still worrisome.

Lydia lands on top of him, and she looks torn between being flustered that he's just dragged her down a laundry shoot and hysterical that Cora just fell down a fucking lift shaft while coughing mistletoe.

Seconds later someone else lands on him, and with a growl he shoves Peter off, "You couldn't have waited, like, ten seconds?" he mutters, clambering out of the bin that stinks of human skin and sweat, "Ugh… so Cora…"

"She fell," Lydia falls out of the bin on top of him, "I couldn't catch her…"

"She was coughing mistletoe?" Peter repeats, his tone darkening. He doesn't say anything more but he doesn't need to.

"We need to get her out of there," Stiles says, "What floor are we on now?"

"Stiles, she fell all the way to the basement."

"Great," he says, "There's a garage on the basement - we can get out that way."

"And Scott?"

Stiles pauses, closing his eyes and trying to extend his senses beyond his and Lydia's racing hearts which have been his last focus for the past hour or so since finding her in the classroom. If he focusses on Lydia or Scott or Malia he can forget that his dad is--

He shoves down the instinctive anger that rises in him. The hospital is silent. There isn't even the thrum of power in the electric lines - the place is a dead zone.

The power is out.

A dead zone for power, he thinks, the lights dim and running on some back up line that keeps them barely lit and flickering. But not a dead zone for phones.

And with that he pulls out his cell phone and dials Scott.

 

"What do you mean Cora fell down an elevator shaft?" Scott says into his phone and Derek and Isaac spin around with twin looks of horror on their faces. Scott really hopes they don't pick now as a time to argue over Isaac dating Derek's little sister, and he turns away so he can hear what Stiles is saying.

"And the alpha twins are walking around in full voltron wolf looking to rip us apart and I'm pretty sure I scented Kali on one of the higher floors…"

"The twins?" Scott's voice does not squeak. He's not fourteen anymore and his voice most certainly didn't squeak.

There is a roar and that didn’t come from over the phone.

"Where are you?" Scott shouts into his phone as Derek and Isaac snarl, stepping towards where the giant form of Ethan and Aiden merged together stands. The voltron (damn Stiles) wolf has no shirt on, and so it's clear to see the point where they merge. It looks like a badly stitched together monster of Frankenstein. According to Braeden before she cleared town; they actually had two spines and judging by the way those shoulder muscles ripple Scott can't say he's surprised.

The sound of heels clicking on the floor has him turning around, and by the time he does she's already out of sight. His heart skips a beat and on the other end of the phone Stiles shouts something at him.

"She's gone," Scott says, hearing Stiles curse, "Jennifer ran."

He thinks Stiles might drop the phone because with a clatter the sound becomes very muted. Scott takes about two steps after the woman who has been committing human sacrifices only for Derek to shout his name, "Scott! A little help here?"

Isaac's pinned to the wall and Derek's shoving himself up the floor. Scott spins around, growling and letting the shift come over him as he jogs down the corridor. He uses the wall to leap off, lashing down at the two twins. They stagger backwards, shaking their heads and looking slightly dazed but unbothered, "Where is she?" they growl, "We just want her."

"She ran!" Scott snaps, dropping to the ground with a spinning kick. The alphas drop Isaac who Derek hurries away towards the emergency stairwell, and Scott doesn't even hesitate to bolt after them.

They race down the stairs, Derek craning to look over his shoulder, "What do you mean 'she ran'?" he snarls, "And Cora…?"

"Cora's…" to say 'fine' would be a lie, "We'll work something out-- _holy_ \--" they door opens and they almost walk straight into a startled Peter.

"Where's the Darach?" he says with a sneer as Scott shoves past him, "Don't tell me you lost her?"

"Where's Cora?" Isaac demands, following Scott into the corridor, "And Stiles and Lydia?"

"Stiles is half-way between a panic attack and a murder spree," Peter drawls, looking like he's considering the stairs in some attempt to make a quick escape before the fighting starts, but at the roar echoing down it; realises it's not the best idea.

Scott shoves through the nearest double-doors into an operating room. Peter's right - Stiles's eyes are azure blue and his claws are out, but judging from the heavy breathing he's bordering on a panic attack. Lydia's grasping onto his hand so tightly it looks like her nails should be drawing blood. She looks terrified; hair in a mess around her shoulders and eyes wide.

His best friend looks up as Derek and Isaac stagger in after him with Peter bringing up the rear and then proceeding to shove as much crap as he can in front of the door to block it from the alpha twins. "What happened to her?" Stiles asks, eyes wide, "Scott…?"

"The twins got in the way," Scott shakes his head, "We lost her…"

"Never mind Jennifer!" Isaac snarls, "Where's Cora?"

"She fell down the elevator shaft," Stiles says, "She was coughing out mistletoe and black blood and I think it's like Danny. I think Jennifer did something--" He doesn't finish the sentence because Isaac punches him in the face.

Isaac shakes out his fist, glaring at Stiles. "That's for letting my girlfriend fall down an elevator shaft." Derek looks mildly appreciative of Isaac's actions, and Scott thinks Isaac's just been approved as boyfriend material in the big brother's eyes.

Stiles staggers back several paces, and he doesn't even look angry, "Fair enough," he mutters, in a drawl eerily reminisce of Peter's reaction to threats and violence, but Scott ignores that.

"Where are the twins?" Lydia asks, but it's more of a throaty whisper that sounds painful.

"Can we make that go away?" Isaac asks, and cautiously offers Lydia her hand. For a moment, apart from some intense staring, nothing happens. Then, with a gasp, black line thread from Lydia's throat down her arm to Isaac's fingers. And Isaac… Isaac's crying. Lydia offers him a weak smile and he drops his hand away, staring at in wonder.

"Thank you," Lydia whispers. Isaac does this little sort of half-nod, as if he's still trying to get around what he can do now he's a werewolf. Isaac has spent his whole life being hurt and now he can stop other people from hurting.

Peter sneers, interrupting the moment, "That's touching," he rolls his eyes.

"You never showed me that," Stiles snaps, on edge, "Are the twins still around?"

"Somewhere," Derek shrugs, "Quiet."

"Why?" Stiles flashes fangs, "Why the hell did you bring Jennifer here, huh? Where's my dad? Did you find him?"

"We will," Scott says, and as predicted Stiles flashes blue eyes at him.

"This wasn't part of the plan!"

"You think I don't know that?" Scott says, his chest tight like in those moments before he used to get asthma attacks, "I'm trying to keep track of everything but there are too many players, too many moves - I don't play chess, Stiles! I can't keep up with five moves at once!"

Stiles glares at him, "If this goes wrong and my dad gets hurt that's on you," he snaps, "Okay? You're the one who is trying to play the druid AND the alpha pack, but how long are we going to manage to keep this up? The alphas are out for our blood and you brought the Darach here…"

"We brought her here to stop the alphas killing her," Derek snaps, and Scott's almost grateful for the alpha taking the brunt of Stiles' raw, emotional anger away from him.

"Well tough, they followed us here!!"

"Guys!" Lydia tries to get them to stop arguing. It doesn't work.

"So I say we give them to her."

"But then you don't find your dad. They'll kill her."

Stiles swears.

"And Cora," Isaac adds, "We can't leave her."

"We need Jennifer alive," Derek says, "For now," he tacks on the end, almost grudgingly.

"That's right," the occupants of the room spin around. "I can help your sister," the double doors at the other end of the operating room swing open and Jennifer crashes through. It's probably that sentence that saves her life but even then Derek looks angry.

"What did you do to her?"

"I didn't do anything!" she snaps and though her heart beats true it's still a lie. "I can heal her… where is she?"

"She fell down an elevator shaft you bi--"

"Even if you could heal her," Scott interrupts, "We need to get her out of there. Where is she?"

There's a pause, and Lydia shoots him such a venom filled glare of 'you're kidding me, right' that Scott almost wants to punch himself. Because duh - where else would Cora be?

"I'd like to volunteer a different method of persuasion," Peter takes a slow step forwards, "Let's torture her."

"I'm in," Stiles says, and even Lydia looks like she can get aboard with that.

"We are not torturing or killing anyone," Scott snaps, and he wonders if his eyes flare because everyone turns to look at him sharply. He feels it almost, like thin pieces of thread tying him to Stiles, to Lydia and to Isaac. They're not real. Pack bonds don't really exist like that; they're in his head, but he knows they're there in spirit.

And now they're looking to him to work something out.

He glances at his friends… at his pack… because he can't do this alone.

Lydia presses her lips together and Isaac nods. Stiles just meets his gaze silently, mind racing a mile a minute and probably already planning contingencies. He doesn't look happy; tense and nervous and they need to be doing something, not standing here talking it all out.

Scott can work with that.

"I was trying to not get killed," Jennifer doesn't seem to sense the tension in the air, "You can't fault me for that."

"If you want our help you're going to have to give a little," Derek snaps.

"If you're going to need my help you're going to have to trust me."

"Fat chance," Isaac growls.

"Like it or not you need me," their teacher brings herself up to her full height, staring at them all. She's not a scared English teacher now. She's not an ordinary human.

This is the person who has been sacrificing people for the past month. This is the person who tried to poison them all with wolfsbane at that motel. This is the person who has kidnapped Stiles' dad and will kidnap two more for some bloody vendetta.

"Whose emissary were you?" Scott asks.

"Is that really important?" Peter drawls.

"It might be," Scott says, fixing the former dead-werewolf with a glare.

"Kali's," Jennifer doesn't even try to hide the sneer in her voice, "I was Kali's emissary. She thought she killed me but I survived. And I swore I'd make them pay. All of them." Her eyes gleam as she looks at Scott, "They want you; don't they? You and Derek both - the last of the Hales… and a teenage boy…" she laughs, "Oh, what they've come in that stupid war of theirs."

Lydia and Stiles turn to frown at Scott, and even Derek looks confused.

"You didn't know?" Jennifer notices, "They want Scott in their pack. Deucalion is, at heart, a collector. He wants the rarest of the rare."

"Oh," Peter must know what it is - Cora must have learnt it from somewhere, he guesses, "Our little Scott," the sociopath sounds almost fond.

"What?" Derek sounds alarmed. Isaac, Stiles and Lydia just looks confused and…

And maybe a little scared. Or maybe he's imagining it.

"He's a true alpha," Peter spits out the words, and is he resentful-- "He doesn't have to steal the power - he'll rise to be an alpha by the force of his own will. It must be fate, then, that I bit you in the woods the night."

Scott's stomach churn, and he's already turning to his best friend because he had barely known himself and he didn't want his friends to find out this way but Stiles--

Stiles doesn't look jealous. He just looks deathly calm and trusting, "We need to distract the twins," he says, "I can do that…"

"No," Scott says, "I need you to get Cora and Lydia out of here."

"I can look after myself," Lydia hisses, but it's dry and lacks volume. Stiles raises one eyebrow. Lydia sighs, "Fine; I'll help with Cora."

Scott turns to Isaac, "Can you help Stiles?" As expected Isaac nods. Scott volunteers himself, "I'll distract the twins."

Derek nods, "I'll help."

"Oh no," Jennifer shakes her head, "I'm not going without Derek."

"Then I'll do it," Peter shrugs, "But I'm not going it without an advantage." Peter sounds like he's trying bargain his way through a gambling game, except this time there are lives at stake, "What?" Peter says when they turn to him, "You saw that monster! I don't stand a chance on my own."

"He's got a point," Lydia says, voice dry.

Scott splays out his hands, staring at the older man, "What do you want?" he asks, trying to work out what sort of advantage they can get trapped in the hospital.

"Something better than a baseball bat," Peter remarks. Stiles glares at him, even though he's not even the one holding the bat. Lydia appears to have stolen it from him and giving it a few experimental swings, just about avoiding hitting Stiles in the head, she hums. Scott gets an awful feeling that Stiles is going to have to buy a new bat.

"What about these?" Stiles pulls out a defibrillator from the trolley just behind him near the operating table.

"Do you know how to use those?" Derek asks, and when Stiles shakes his head he adds, "Put them back."

"I could work it out," Lydia volunteers, taking them from Stiles. She looks like she's considering testing them on Peter who is closest to her. As if sensing that, the older werewolf moves out of her way.

Isaac pulls out a large and very intimidating syringe from somewhere. "Epinephrine?" he reads the label and ends up bungling the pronunciation so badly that Scott's forced to correct him on it.

Derek once again seems to know what that means, "That will only make them stronger."

Peter looks interested, "How much stronger?"

Stiles frowns, "Are you telling me a giant needle is better than my Betty?"

"You named your baseball bat, Betty?"

"Not the point."

"I like the name," Lydia says, swinging said bat; "Ready to go?"

There's a pause as almost everyone in the room turns, just for the satisfaction of watching Derek stab his uncle with a giant needle. "You're all a bunch of sadists," Peter winces, his eyes lighting blue and claws sliding out, "Okay, let's rumble."

 

The hospital is deserted.

Chris holsters his gun, expression grim and next to him Allison grabs her ring daggers. Malia sniffs once at the weapons in her trunks then steps backwards, letting her claws out, "I'm okay," she says, meeting Allison's gaze. Allison nods.

Her dad had wanted to drive her straight home. He had wanted her away from the mess; far, far away. Allison had thought she would need to argue her point; had thought she would have to drill into his head about her new code that he refuses to acknowledge; about getting revenge for mom…

It hadn't even taken that much. Looking around at the ruined classroom with desks strewn everywhere, a shattered window and a missing Sheriff. "There are going to be two more sacrifices," Allison had whispered.

That was all it took.

The hospital is deserted. They must have evacuated due to the storm. Trees are buffeting at windows, and the lights are dark. The three of them pause, as if not quite sure how to handle it.

"I think we're late to the party," Allison whispers.

"They're all in there?" Chris checks with her again.

Allison doesn't know. She checks her phone, re-reading the frantic text from Scott. She nods slowly, biting her lip and saying, "Scott says he has a plan but I think he's just making this up as he goes along." It doesn't matter. She trusts Scott. He got them through the debacle with Gerard and the kanima. He had gotten them so far.

"We need to get the Darach out," Chris says, voice dark, "And the alphas pinned down."

"We can do that," Malia says, sounding braver than she probably feels.

"Yeah," Allison spins her dagger around her finger, staring up at the dark building, "Should be easy, right?"


	20. Guardians

Maybe Stiles is right.

This is an awful plan.

Peter's so high on the drugs that he barely seems to notice the twins have landed several blows on him. Scott's decidedly not high - he likes his senses about him - so he uses his wits. He uses the wall of the corridor to give him height. He uses the beds and trolleys left everywhere to trip the fusion twins up. With a roar they lash out. Peter goes crashing backwards, eyes blazing the same steel blue as Malia and Stiles, and Scott gets slammed up against the wall, a hand to his throat.

This sort of situation is becoming increasingly familiar.

"Hey!" someone shouts, "That's my son!"

Scott's almost glad that Lydia hadn't taken the defibrillator, because if she had then his mother obviously wouldn't have been able to grab it, turning the voltage on high and powering it on.

Electricity interferes with a shapeshifter's shift. It can either trap someone permanently, stop the shift from happening or trigger one. In this case the twins shudder, their conjoined bodies jerking violently and with sickening pops. By the time they fall to the ground they are two separate people again.

"Wow," Peter mumbles, dazed, "Tha's hot."

"Shut up!" Scott and Melissa snap at him in sync.

"You okay?" his mother helps him up, brushing off what looks like pieces of the hospital wall from his jacket.

He nods, rubbing at a bruise that he can already feel healing, "That was amazing," he says, glancing at where Ethan and Aiden are still trembling. They're either paralyzed or unconscious. "I thought you were meant to be getting out?" he asks his mother, alarm in his voice, "What happened to the evacuation?"

"Oh, sweetie," Melissa says, "Everyone's gone. I was leaving but… Deucalion… he cornered me."

"Did he--"

"He didn't hurt me, I'm fine," his mother shakes her head, "He told me it was dangerous wandering about alone. And… he said that you're out of time. Whatever that means… Scott, what does it mean? What are you doing?"

Scott looks up, meeting her worried gaze and wishing he could spit out something smart. What he's doing is stupid, what he's doing might be the only option he has left.

On the floor, Ethan and Aiden groan, beginning to stir.

"We have to go," Scott grabs his mother's arms, "Come on…"

"What's the matter with him?" Melissa jerks her head towards Peter.

Scott glances past her to where the older man looks seconds away from falling asleep on the hospital floor, "He's high," he says. "Adrenaline rush."

His mom nods in understanding, "Of course. Well we better help him out of here."

 

Derek tugs the Darach turned English teacher down one of the hospital corridors. Above him he can hear footsteps and it could be Kali, it could be Scott, it could be anybody. He doesn't have time to stop and listen; they need to get out of here.

And Cora…

He forces himself to worry about the issue at hand. He can't do anything for Cora now. All he can do is make sure the alphas don't kill their only chance at finding the Sheriff and stopping the sacrifices.

"I'll help her. I can help your sister if you help me," Jennifer says, as if she has any choice. If she doesn't help then they'll kill her. She'd probably be more useful dead at this rate anyway and Derek almost regrets not letting Stiles and Peter end her. He settles for glaring at her, his gaze ruby red and threatening but she doesn't flinch.

"You're the one who did something in the first place," he accuses, because Cora should have been fine. She should have been fine, not coughing up mistletoe and falling down elevator shafts.

Jennifer doesn't even try to deny it, "I'm doing what I have to," she says, "The Nemeton was great once. At the height of its power its branches touched the sky; its roots ran deep and powerful. Nobody is sure what happened to it, but one day it was gone. Someone, something destroyed it… but there was still power lingering there. Like an… afterimage. The dying embers of a burnt out fire."

Derek pauses on the stairs leading up to the ground floor, turning to her, "Why are you telling me, this?" he asks.

"Because you and I, Derek? We're linked. The power in the tree wouldn't have done me any good, had it not tasted blood. A few months before someone died there. A young, innocent girl had her blood spilled in the roots of that tree…"

Derek wants to flinch away, wants to punch her and make her shut up…

"That spark of power was enough to let me live. You saved me, Derek," Jennifer whispers, "You saved me then, just like you saved me during the full moon. Just like you're going to save me now…"

Derek's spent long enough around Kate Argent to know when he's being manipulated. He turns away and doesn't listen, shoving open the door at the top of the stairs, ignoring the Darach's esasperated shouting of his name as she stumbles out after him.

She almost walks straight into his back. He's staring down the corridor at where Kali whirls around, eyes like red fire burning and fixating on the pair of them. The female alpha's lips curl in a snarl--

"Get back!" Derek shoves Jennifer back to the stairs. She stumbles, and slides out of his way, lowering her head. Derek hears the moments her heartbeat changes, can taste it in the air when her human scent turns sour.

She no longer smells like a living, breathing human; she smells like blood and ozone and something earthy.

Kali makes it half way down the corridor before Jennifer moves, eyes lighting up with a white light, gleaming like the moon as she shoves her hands out in front of her.

Kali goes flying backwards, and Derek doesn't waste time. He backs so fast into the stairwell he almost falls down them, Jennifer right behind him.

"Change of plan," Derek snaps, "We get to the basement, we get Cora out, we take the ambulance…"

"Julia Baccari."

"What?" he turns his head as the stairs take them back to where they were a few minuets ago, glancing down both corridors for the stairs to the basement garage.

"That was my name," Jennifer says, as if he deserves to know.

"I don't care," he spots the sign to the garage and heads towards it.

"Probably should have changed my initials," she laughs weakly, her heels clicking as she follows him for a few steps and then stops, "But I wanted to keep something of myself. It was something I couldn't bear to change… after all, I had already lost my face. But you… you haven't seen it, have you, Derek?"

Derek turns to ask her why she's not following, to ask her what she thinks telling him all this will do…

For a moment she's human. Human with dark hair and soft eyes and then she's not. Her hair is gone and her face has deep claw marks scarred through it. She might have been pretty once with a different face and blue eyes, but her body is nothing but a web of scars.

She's a monster. The alpha pack have made their own undoing, Derek thinks, seconds before with a flash of bone white eyes she lashes out, and the last thing Derek sees is the false image of Jennifer Blake, blinking down at him.

"It's okay," she whispers, "They won't hurt anybody else. I won't let them."

 

The basement is dark, the overhead lights flickering with a faint greenish glow that illuminates the werewolves' eyes. For a moment, looking at Isaac and Stiles, their eyes are almost completely reflective. It's like looking at a dog or a cat, not a human.

It's creepy.

It's also not the most important thing right now. The most important thing is getting to Cora. Lydia stops in front of the elevator, stepping aside so the two superhumans can slide their claws into the metal, tugging it apart. The noise sends loud metallic screeches throughout the whole basement and Lydia winces.

"So I probably wasn't the only person who heard that," she says, voice tense, "You two better hurry." She turns from examining the garage behind them, only to see that both boys have paused.

"Cora!" the sound out of Isaac's mouth couldn't be called a whine, or even a cry. It was too pathetic for that, even more so when Isaac threw himself forwards, clawing at the elevator as if it could get him closer.

Lydia can barely see her. The absence of light in the garage makes it hard to see already, and the fact that the elevator's come to a jagged, unexpected stop about half-way down when the power died didn't help matters.

Cora's trapped between the floor and the elevator above her. Lydia can't even tell if she's still  breathing.

"I can hear her heartbeat," Stiles whispers, as Isaac tries to slide through to her. The gap is tiny. Too small, Lydia thinks, it's too small and Isaac will never fit through there. It's a miracle in itself that Cora wasn't crushed, that there's actually a space underneath, a crawl hole of sorts between where the elevator floor meets the ground. "Isaac!" Stiles grabs hold of the other beta, trying to stop him clawing up the floor in an attempt to reach her, "That's solid metal!"

"You're making too much noise," Lydia adds, glancing once again over her shoulder, "You can't get to her…"

"We need to move the elevator," Stiles realises, "We need to move the elevator…"

"Then help me!" Isaac snarls, and there's a brief moment in which Lydia thinks the two werewolves are going to rip each other to shreds as Stiles grabs Isaac bodily, dragging him backwards and only just avoiding a claw in his eye.

"Think it through, dumbass," he snaps, "We can't lift something that big! We need to the power back on."

"The power's out," Isaac says, dumbly.

Lydia shakes her head, realising their solution and their problem, "The emergency generators. There are emergency generators on the roof."

 

Scott's phone beeps with a text and he freezes in the middle of the corridor. Peter almost slides off his shoulder from where he's been helping the older wolf. Looking somewhat recovered, Peter throws off his arm like it burns him, "What went wrong?" he asks, as if it's almost expected by now.

"They can't get to Cora. They need the power back on. And Derek…" Scott pauses, "Derek isn't answering his phone."

"That shot didn't last very long," Peter winces, glancing the way they came, "Do you think the twins are still after us?"

"After that much electricity?" Melissa's laugh is slightly hysterical, "No human would be… but of course, you're not human…"

"Hang on…" Peter lifts a hand in the air, pausing, "I hear something…"

Scott immediately slides in front of his mother, claws out and eyes glowing.

He doesn't know what colour.

Peter doesn't seem keen to do anything, so Scott is the one who steps forwards, cautiously, nervously…

He rounds the corner and his heart almost beats out of his skin when a blue-eyed snarling coyote girl takes an aggressive step forwards then falls back, "Scott," she jumps, "I'm sorry, I couldn't smell you - the rain hides everyone's scents."

"Malia?" he blinks in relief at seeing her, his gaze drifting past her to where the Argents - both of them - have weapons drawn as if they're seconds away from shooting or stabbing Scott.

"Oh," Allison lowers her knives and even Chris lowers his gun, "It's you."

"Us," Scott says, glancing to his mother next to him, and then doing a double take when he notices that Peter's gone. Scott's not even surprised, "You took your time," he said, feeling petulant but not knowing what else to say.

"Let me guess," Allison says, good-naturedly, "You needed us."

"Always," Scott smiles back, and Chris and Melissa clear their throats loudly. Allison and Scott both proceed to look at anywhere other than each other.

"What's with the guns?" Malia asks, looking a little put-off by Argent's weapons.

"It's a sign that I'm a little worried," Chris says, slowly, "Where are the others?"

"Getting out," Scott says, "At least… they're meant to be. Cora fell down an elevator shaft. She's trapped - we need the power back on to move her."

"And the Darach?" Allison asks, looking around as if expecting to see their English teacher step out of the nearby radiology wing.

"She went with Derek," Scott shrugs, "We were meant to be getting out but…"

"Why can't we just go?" Malia frowns.

"Not without Derek or Cora," Scott emphasises.

"But they're weak," Malia says, eyes wide, "If they're weak, we can't get held down, can we?"

"Would you leave if it was Stiles?" Allison asks her, and Malia's eyes widen in understanding.

"Which one is the English teacher again?" Chris frowns.

"Brown hair," Malia says, "Smells like cherries."

" _Cherries_?"

Nobody else even questions it and Scott thinks he probably shouldn't bother.

"I can get the power back on," Melissa says, "There's a back-up generator on the roof."

"You're not going alone," Scott gazes at her in worry. "Not with the alphas around."

"I'll help her," Chris shrugs.

"But the alphas will go after you," Allison frowns, and someone's phone beeps. Allison pulls hers out, and reads out the message, "The ambulance is a bust. The driver's dead and Kali has the keys," she looks up at the others, "Cora's still trapped…"

"So we need a distraction," Scott says. "A distraction and a way out."

Allison grins, flashing her teeth, "I think I might have a plan."

 

"She called this a plan?"

"You heard Scott's plan, did you really think Allison was going to have anything better?"

Stiles finds Malia in the stairwell, and they duck out of it as quickly as possible when the sound of claws on the hospital floor echo towards them. "I used to be the one with the plans," Stiles laughs, almost breathlessly as they run, "Mind you: mine never used to be much better…"

"I don't know," Malia hums, "You helped me, didn't you?"

"Yeah," he says, as they hit the main corridor and start running, "I guess I did."

He and Malia are the fastest. A floor above them they hear someone moving, but neither of them stop to determine whether it's the twins or Kali. They make straight for the entrance. A roar signals that at least somebody is giving chase.

It's no longer raining outside. It smells of petrichor and the faint tang of electricity that makes Stiles' bones ache this close to the full moon. He's tracking heartbeats in his head, and he and Malia throw themselves into Argent's large Toyota.

A window somewhere shatters and Stiles almost crawls out of his skin because he was not expecting Kali to throw herself out of a window.

The twins barrel out of the front door, thankfully separate and not fused together. They don't even slow as Kali lands between them, her eyes filled with red.

"Drive!" Allison shouts, stringing an arrow to her bow and letting it fly. It's a flare arrow, and it has the desired effect. She gets off about three, but Stiles is trying too hard not to listen. He waits for the expected door slam and then floors the gas.

"How do you even fit that thing in the backseat?" he asks, peering in the rear view mirror and blinking at how Allison somehow manages to fit her recurve bow into the backseat.

"Focus on driving, Stiles!"

 

The power turns back on with a muted hum.

"Cora!"

Lydia waits by the entrance to the elevator, helping Isaac as he stabs the up button on the elevator and then throws himself under it the second the gap is big enough.

"Is she okay?" she asks, and Isaac doesn't say anything. He grabs the girl, cradling her too him. Lydia wishes she could help, that she had super strength or something…

"Here, let me…" Peter appears from nowhere, grabbing Cora from Isaac so he can lift himself out of the metal and dirt pit at the bottom of the elevator. Lydia gives him the evil eye, but Peter appears genuinely worried for his niece. "What's the plan?"

In a screech of tyres the Argent's car screeches into the basement. "That's the plan," Lydia hums, "Hmm - has Chris seen you since you killed your sister?"

"No," Peter sounds almost petulant, "But thankfully that's not Chris…"

The doors open and Stiles, Malia and Allison clamber out. Stiles tosses the keys to Isaac; he and Malia both looking ready to run bait again. "Where's Scott?" he asks, glancing around as Peter helps to load up Cora into the back seat.

"Went to look for Derek," Allison replies. Stiles frowns, spinning around as if looking for them.

"Why was he looking for Derek?" he says, sounding confused. "And shouldn't your dad be here? The power's back on…"

"He's a human," Allison snaps, "He's not as fast as you."

There's something in the air. Lydia can taste it. It's weird, she thinks in a daze. It's like the taste of salt before you see the sea. Or the taste of the air before a thunderstorm.

The taste of metal and blood before a panic attack.

 

"Derek? Derek! Der--" Scott finally finds Derek.

He's not conscious. He's lying down the corridor as a huddled lump and the only reason Scott even finds him is because he almost trips over him.

"Derek?" he asks, his immediate concern Derek's health.

His second concern is where the hell Jennifer has gotten to.

His third concern are the gunshots that even without werewolf hearing, are clear to hear throughout the whole hospital.

Only then does his mind jump to his mother.

 

Stiles is about to head for the car when he hears the faint ricocheting. It's quiet. The other werewolves don't notice but then the other werewolves can't track the heartbeats moving around the hospital the same way he can if he focuses for half a second.

"Where did your dad go again?" he asks Allison.

"He went to the roof to help Melissa turn the power back on," Allison says, frowning because of course Stiles should know this. Stiles knows everything, people don't even ask him how anymore but right now…

Right now Stiles is functioning with a missing dad and there's a form pinned to the ambulance, and there are gunshots and Chris and Melissa are out there with Scott and Derek and Jennifer and…

Allison frowns at him, leaning into his eye-line, but he stares straight through her not seeing her at all. "Stiles?" she asks, waving a hand in front of his face, "Stiles? What's the matter?"

"Where's Jennifer?" Stiles whispers, as pieces begin to fall into place, "Where are Derek and Jennifer?"

Allison opens herself mouth to answer when Lydia appears, "Let's go!" Lydia shouts, "Come on! Let's move it…"

"Where's Jennifer?" Stiles says again, his gaze panicked as he meets Allison's brown eyes, "Where is she?"

"I don't… she was with Derek…"

"Then why…" Stiles whispers, "Why did Scott have to go to look for them?"

"Stiles? What are you getting at?"

"I heard gunshots. I heard… your dad…"

Lydia lets out a gasp. It's quiet, almost silent but Stiles hears it. He turns to her, and she shakes her head, "Nothing," she whispers, "It's just… it's like when you go over a rollercoaster and your stomach falls out beneath you. I just felt…"

"Felt what? Lydia?" Allison sounds increasingly worried and that's when Stiles moves, stepping around Allison to the piece of paper that is fluttering in his attention, looking to the line at the bottom for signatures.

Parents.

Or Guardians.

"Guardians," he says as if that explains everything.

"Stiles?" Allison asks, and Stiles is stepping backwards, breathing sharp and fast and-- "Stiles?" she asks, "What's wrong?"

"Guardians. She's going after guardians. She's going after _our parents..._ "

He doesn't even wait before throwing himself back towards the stairs.

 

"Why aren't we going?" Peter asks, "The twins are going to be here any second."

Isaac's fingers dance on the wheel, "Guys?" he asks, even as Malia throws herself in the back seat next to her…

God, Cora is her cousin.

Peter smirks as she sits herself there, and Malia glares at him. It makes her feel better.

The abandoned ambulance sits in the middle of the garage, and Lydia, Allison and Stiles are standing by it.

"What are they waiting for?" Peter snarls, glancing down at his niece who he appears to be more concerned for than he is for Malia…

Not that she wants or needs his concern or anything…

"Stiles!" someone shouts and Malia's head snaps up, but it's to see the door slam closed as Stiles vanishes up the stairs. Allison is right behind him and Lydia flounders for a moment, turning to look at where the pair vanished and then at where the others sit in the car. Letting out an exasperated hiss, Lydia freezes mid-way through, the air dying behind her teeth.

"Lydia?" Malia asks, recognising when something is wrong. The red-head has frozen, staring at the ambulance and then at where Stiles and Allison last were standing, "Lydia, what's wrong…?" she shoves open the door, making as if to go to the banshee.

"Not you too…" Peter grumbles.

But then Lydia's spinning around, running towards them surprisingly quickly in heels. She whirls around the car and Malia slides back in as Lydia throws herself into the passenger door with surprising grace.

"Now can we go?"

"What about the others?" Isaac asks, "What about Scott?"

"Drive!" Lydia says, "Isaac, drive."

"But--" Isaac makes as if to protest, but then he sees the same thing Lydia had. The twins have finally shaken off the flare arrows and come to find them.

"For the love of God, can we go?" Peter shouts, "Drive! Drive!"

"Okay!" Isaac finally shifts the car into gear, "Where did Stiles and Allison go? What was that about? Is this the great plan you keep going on about?"

"No," Lydia's breathing is heavy. Her heart keeps stuttering and ignoring Peter's squawk of indignation, Malia sticks her head between the seats, mindful of her unconscious cousin.

"You smell off," Malia says, and it comes out quieter and more sympathetic than it sounds.

"Stiles heard gunshots," Lydia whispers, "Stiles heard gunshots and I wanted to scream."

"Scream?" Peter shoves Malia out of the way, "Who died?"

"Nobody died," Lydia sounds like death. She sounds pale and trembling and her throat sounds awful and-- "Not yet. But it's guardians."

"We know that," Isaac spins the wheel more violently than he should, "Guardians like police, right?"

"No," Lydia breathes, "Guardians like parents."

 

The night air is cool and crisp in the absence of the rain. On the roof top it's beginning to turn to mist, drifting over the large fenced of section where the hospital generators are located.

Scott crashes through the door with no regard for any of it. He splashes through a puddle sending water spraying everywhere but doesn't care.

"She's already gone."

"No," he whispers, spinning around frantically but the only scent on the breeze is ozone and earth, "No, Mom? _MOM?!_ "

"If you were with me I could have told you this was coming."

 _'If you were with me'_ mocks him.

Yes, Scott thinks, that's the plan. That's the plan and it will be bad enough, pretending to be friends with a guy you hate, but it's going to be even worse for his friends who don't have their parents.

Neither does he, he thinks. He doesn't have his mother. His mother is _gone_ …

There are still warm bullets on the ground from where Chris had probably been standing and shooting. He’s not there now. He’s gone, just like Scott’s mother. Just like Stiles’ father.

Gone. Missing. Taken.

"I can help you, Scott, if you'll let me."

She has all three, Scott thinks, she has all three. What's to stop her killing them all now? What's to stop her ending this…?

He's got to believe.

It's the only thing he can do.

He doesn't say anything. He doesn't really need to. He starts walking to where Deucalion lounges on the rooftop as if he already knows Scott's answer.

"Scott!" Stiles appears in a crash of the door, "Scott, don't, this won't work, we'll be too late, Scott!"

He doesn't turn. He doesn't even look. If he looks he thinks he might turn back.

"Scott?" Stiles' voice is broken. Questioning and uncertain and for once he sounds the seventeen years old he actually is, "Scott… we'll work something out. We always do…"

Scott pauses then, and without turning he says, "We already have."

His best friend doesn't say anything else. He just stands there, and watches.

And Scott walks away, Deucalion's lips curling in triumph as Scott crosses over to the alpha's side.


	21. Sacrifice

Stiles watches Scott walk off with Deucalion and wonders if this is what Scott felt like when he walked off with Peter.

"He's gone?" Allison reaches him seconds too late. "He's seriously gone? He's seriously sticking to the plan?"

"I don't where he's gone. I mean it's not like he can get off the roof that way." Stiles tries for dry humour and fails, voice coming out quiet and so, so small.

"My dad…" Allison breathes, but she already knows the answer.

"I'm sorry," Stiles whispers, "I'm sorry…"

"No," she says, "No, no, stop treating them like they're already dead. They're not. We still have time… we have to still have time…"

But they don't know how much time and they're running out of options.

 

It's dark. Dark and cold and even underground the winds howl. They never say that in the stories, that underground the wind howls and bites colder than it could possibly ever do above ground.

It's a cold air. A dead air. It lacks the fresh taste of the clouds and rolling sky and instead is dusty with soil and years upon years of dust and plant matter. It clings to his throat and his skin and his pores. He coughs. It's a dry, hacking sound that doesn't help to alleviate his aches and hungers.

The Sheriff isn't alone. He was. For about six hours or so he was alone, head trickling blood and hands tied behind his back all while he cursed himself for not taking more precautions, not listening to Stiles more, not doing his job and working everything out before the teenagers had to deal with the mess and clean-up.

The teenagers - oh god - he tries to fight down the rising panic at the thought of his son. He knows what happened the last time someone threatened John. He knows his kid's broken himself already trying to do what he thought was best and now he's not just looking at his son with blue eyes and werewolf claws and morals that slip a little more every day. He's looking at a girl who has lost three members of her family within six months and has an alarming knowledge of weaponry. He's looking at a boy desperate to do the right thing, even if it kills him.

Stilinski's heart beats a little faster and he wonders if he'll ever see his son again. He tries not to imagine what Stiles' face will be like when he finds his dad's body with his skull broken, throat cut and strangulation marks around his throat.

He tries not to imagine the disaster that will follow when Scott and Allison find their parents dead too because if Scott's not there to act as a moral compass for them, then what's to stop them?

There is a groan from the nearby pillar. Melissa wakes slowly.

The Sheriff is there to watch it happen. She wakes first, but it's slow. It's blinking in a dazed manner, it's rolling her neck and suddenly realising her hands are tied.

In comparison Chris wakes up almost straight away. The hunter's senses jump into alertness, and for a moment he's still, processing everything.

"You okay?" the Sheriff asks, his voice dry, and Melissa cranes her neck, spotting him. Her eyes are wide and frightened.

"Where are we?" she whispers.

Chris is peering around and the Sheriff shrugs, "I don't know. But I think he does."

"I've been here before," Chris says, gazing with far more fascination at a tangle of roots than it deserves, "It was years ago but you never forget a place like this. It's called a Nemeton."

 

Derek is still unconscious when they get to him. "What did they give him?" Stiles frowns at him, "She must have whammied him pretty hard."

Allison slaps Derek's cheek gently. It doesn't do anything. Stiles curls his hand into a fist with almost gleeful delight and brings it down. It must be the threat of danger more than anything else, because Derek's eyes snap open and he catches Stiles' punch with an alarmed, "What the hell?"

Stiles rears back, almost falling on his ass. Derek shoves himself up, blinking in a dazed manner.

"Where's Jennifer?" the alpha asks, but there's already a note of desperation in his voice.

Allison thinks she's past desperation. She's past all of the panic and worry and she's reached a deadly calm, "Gone," she says, "With my dad and Scott's mom."

"She has all three sacrifices?" Derek exclaims, "Where's Scott?"

"With Deucalion."

"You're kidding."

Stiles glares back and it's pretty obvious he isn't. Derek drags himself to his feet and neither Stiles nor Allison offer him any assistance as he looks around the deserted hospital, "Where's Cora?" he asks instead, "What happened to my sister?"

"She got out," Allison says, "I think the others took her back to your loft…"

There is a wail of something that might be a police siren in the distance.

"Come on," Derek says, "I can give you a lift…"

"It's okay," Stiles says, voice sounding dead. There's no tone to in, none of his usual inflictions or wild flailing. He's still and quiet and Allison thought Scott had been terrifying when he had stood holding a lit flare, coated in gasoline and an expression in his gaze of complete and utter hopelessness. But she thinks that Stiles with no stupid sarcastic phrase, no flailing, and no emotion in his tone or body language might be just worse.

Or maybe there's something still more terrifying, she thinks, and that's a Stiles without Scott; a Scott without Stiles.

They watch Derek leave, and they've just thrown Derek under the fucking bus. He's going to have to pass on everything that happened to the others, he's going to have to explain how they might have already lost.

Derek's car drives off and like that Stiles is no longer standing next to her. Instead he sinks down like a puppet with his strings cut, no longer able to keep standing. He leans on a nearby desk for support, his breathing deepening and becoming shallower and shallower--

"Stiles?" she asks, stepping around to look at him, "What's wrong?"

"They're gone," he chokes out, "They're all… they're all gone…" his eyes flaring blue gives her a split second warning to get out of the way. He whirls around, claws out and swiping at the first thing he can lay a hand on. Piles of papers and pencils go scattering off the desk in a mess of ink and folders. "They're gone, hell they're already _dead_!" Stiles snaps out. The look in his eyes scares her, and she takes a step back, reaching for one of her blades.

"Not yet," she whispers.

"Practically…" he forces back the shift, the wolf receding from his features as he gazes at her, his breathing still that uncomfortable rhythm that must be painful. Letting his grip on the desk loosen, Stiles slides to the floor, chest heaving.

"Stiles?" she asks, "Stiles, what's wrong… Stiles…?"

"Panic attack," he mumbles, eyes glassy and unfocussed, gasping for air.

"Panic att- I don't even know what that is, Stiles," Allison drops to the floor next to him, "Oh god, Lydia would know… I don't…"

He blinks his eyes open, "It's like… like a sense of impending disaster…" his breathing is speeding up and if she could hear it his heartbeat would probably be through the roof. "Like I'm going to faint… lose control… even die…"

"But you're not, you're fine…"

"We're not though," he chokes out, "We're not, we haven't been, we won't be…"

"Try to slow your breathing," Allison says, "You're going to pass out if you don't get enough oxygen…"

"Wouldn't be the first time," if Stiles could laugh, she would imagine he would be right now. Hysterical, broken laughter.

Instead he's still struggling to breathe.

"Needle," Allison whispers, and the look Stiles' gives her makes her feel slightly crazy. He's sitting in front of her, struggling to draw in more than a half mouthful of air and she's talking about needles, "Something Cora told me. About navigating between two forces in a war zone. Threading the needle. About how we can get through this. We can, I know you don’t believe it, but we will get through this."

He huffs, but beyond that it doesn't help, his chest jerking up and down and--

"I need you to breathe, Stiles, count your breathing. Now count. _One_ …"

"Two…" he chokes out, and the sound of him gasping for air is torture.

"Three," she keeps going, and his ragged hiss of released air follows, "Four…"

"Five…" It's a broken sound, the sound of her friend trying to find oxygen, "Six…"

"Seven…" she keeps going, holding his shoulders because that's all she can do, "Eight…"

"Nine…" there's a hitch, a sob in his voice but he keeps going.

There's another choking gasp around twelve. Seventeen finds Allison realising that she's crying. Twenty-four finds Stiles finally beginning to breathe normally, but they keep counting.

They get to forty-nine when Allison collapses onto Stiles' shoulder, trembling with the effort not to cry. They keep going, keep counting up and up and up and--

"I think the panic attack's finished," Stiles murmurs, when they're at about seventy-three. Their breathing is in sync now, in and out with the sound of each new number.

"Seventy-four," Allison says, just to be petulant, "Seventy-five…" she pauses, peering around Stiles' shoulder at something.

"Seventy-six," he says, turning to follow her gaze, "Seventy… You know I've always wondered where your family get the henchmen that lurk behind them," Stiles mutters, "Do you pay them? Is there a hunter's union? Or do they have internships of stalking your family around, assaulting the Sheriff's son and other prominent teenagers of the community and - oh - you have to get them coffee as well, but at least you don't have to clean Mr Argent's car windows, he does that himself."

"Stiles… what are you talking about?" Allison's gaze slides from the police arriving to her friend.

His shrug is loose, hiding the tension in his muscles, "I'm just wishing we had a few more guns on our side."

Behind them there are footsteps. People are shouting down the corridor and someone clears their throat.

She stands, and Stiles stays sitting, still oxygen deprived as they wait for the police to swarm in to inspect the reason the hospital looks like a war zone. From where she's standing she hears Stiles' muted curse as he looks up at the guy looming towards them. He's tall. That's the first thing she realises. He's really tall and intimidating.

"You kids okay?" the man says, and then he notices Stiles, "Stilinski," he recognises the boy, even half draped in shadows and collapsed on the floor, "Should have known you'd be in the middle of this."

"We got trapped," Allison lies through her teeth, "In the elevator when the power died."

"So the broken windows, the smashed equipment…" the man turns pointedly to where the papers and pens Stiles had flung off the desk lie scattered.

"I'm not quite sure I know who you are," Allison narrows her eyes at the man, staring him up and down. He's familiar, but she knows she's never met him before, but there's something about him…

Stiles stands in what was probably meant to be a smooth, fluid motion but ends up with him half leaning against the wall. Allison catches sight of claws scratching the hospital tiles seconds before he curls them away out of sight, "He's an FBI agent. At least, he pretends to be," he snorts, "Did they call you in to investigate the murders? What are you doing at the hospital?"

"I heard about the disturbance," the man says, "If you'll recall my wife works here…"

"Your _ex-wife,_ " Stiles sneers.

The man - agent - sighs, "Can you please try to keep the sarcasm to a minimum?"

"If you can keep the level of stupid down too, that would be brilliant," Stiles says, and there isn't even a smile in his voice. It's all cruel words and rough edges.

The agent gestures around, rocking back on his heels, "Where's your dad? Shouldn't he be here?"

"He's working," Stiles shrugs, "Long hours. Busy. I think he had a lead or two he was following."

"Is he drinking again?"

" _Again_?" Stiles says defensively and Allison tenses in case claws appear in this unfriendly conversation, "He never had to stop."

"He had to slow down."

"Like you?" If Stiles were a real wolf then this would be him, going for the tendons at the back of the ankle to hobble his prey. "You know what, next time I see him I'll give him a field sobriety test. We'll do the alphabet, start with "F", end with "U"."

The agent looks frustrated, if not seconds away from visibly ringing Stiles' neck. Allison almost wants to see him try, "You don't change, do you, Stilinski? Still 90% sarcasm and witty remarks, but nothing to back it up."

"We're all works in progress." Stiles' smile is like a razor blade and his words sound stilted. If Allison didn't know better, she'd have thought they were Peter's.

Maybe they are.

"Guess some of us are further along than others," she adds, and she doesn't even bother hiding her stare as she looks over the supposed FBI agent.

"You know I don't think I actually know who you are," the agent turns to Allison, glancing up and down sceptically at her, "You actually found a girlfriend, Stilinski?"

Allison bristles at the implications. Both that Stiles isn't good enough, and that she's got low standards, but before she can say anything Stiles speaks, "She's Scott's ex."

The man stiffens, gaze growing critical. And Allison thinks she might just know who this man is and why Stiles knows him so well.

"Allison Argent," she says, and she doesn't offer her hand to shake.

" _Argent_ ," the agent narrows his eyes. He probably recognises the name, "Got any enemies?"

"You have _no idea,_ " she drawls, suddenly unafraid and completely unrepentant.

"Any idea why someone would want to scrawl your name across the doors?"

She blinks, pausing mid shake of her head, "What name?"

And the agent looks past them, jerking his head towards the elevator. Allison spins around, trying to work out what he means…

"Allison?" Stiles breathes, "What… who did that?"

The doors to the elevator that one of the wolves must have forced open earlier look like they're broken. They're on a loop of opening and closing and opening and close--

The metal doors slam shut and Allison finally sees the letter emblazed in red across them.

ARGENT.

 

"She took your knife," the Sheriff deadpans as Chris Argent tries to reach for his ankle. With a grunt Argent just readjusts himself, "And the one in your sleeve. And the switchblade in your pocket."

Chris makes an annoyed noise in the back of his throat, beginning some new sort of contortion.

"She took your gun before she knocked me out," Melissa says, and Chris sags for a moment against the ropes.

"And your taser," the Sheriff adds, before Chris can start trying to escape again, "You came prepared, but not prepared enough."

"I wasn't expecting to get kidnapped!" Chris snaps, twisting his hands as if he could rub the ropes straight off his wrist.

The Sheriff winces, because he's tried that already. All it achieved was some severe rope burn, "I know you're a hunter, and apparently this is some part of your messed up initiation, but I don't think you're going to get out that way."

Chris' jaw clenches, and he probably bites back a dark comment about something. Instead he shakes his head, eyes closing almost in defeat but Stilinski knows there is nothing but hold hard steel and determination there as he tries to plan a way out. "I should have guessed," Chris says, voice sounding so, so tired. It's just how the Sheriff feels. "I knew the signs, she was even using mistletoe…"

"What's so special about mistletoe?" Melissa frowns, "Danny vomited that out, but… how is it important?"

"Oh," a new voice chimes in, and for a moment the dead air around them wails a little harder. She steps down the stairs, looking perfect and not a hair out of place, "Mistletoe is _the_ most important thing. Don't you know your myths?"

The Sheriff has done a lot of reading into myths the past few months, but this isn't one of them.

"It's Norse," Jennifer says, tone dry and obviously unimpressed with their lack of culture, "Baldur, son of Odin, was the most beloved of all the gods. He was shining and beautiful and perfect and everyone loved him. Frigg, his mother, wanted to protect him from all the harm in the world. Most mothers do, don't you find, Melissa?" her tone grows cruel, simpering…

Melissa doesn't answer.

"So Frigg travelled. For over a year she sought out every living thing and extracted a promise from it to never hard Baldur. Fire, stone, metal, water, every living thing, dangerous or not. When finally she was done, the gods all celebrated. They threw whatever weapons they could at Baldur and laughed when none could harm him. But there was one god who wasn't so enamoured with Baldur. Loki, the Trickster, the one they call the Sly One, found out through tricks and lies that Frigg hadn't bothered to ask mistletoe. It was harmless, Frigg insisted, a seemingly innocent plant and completely overlooked. Loki fashioned a dart out of mistletoe, and used it to kill Baldur. Didn't you ever wonder why we hang it up during the holiday season?"

When nobody answers she continues.

"It's so that nobody ever overlooks it again," Jennifer's voice grows hard, "We were the overlooked. The emissaries. Deucalion thought he could rip us to shreds and leave us to die but that was their mistake," she releases a hissed breath and chuckles slightly, "But it will be okay. Surely you can see why I'm doing this? By killing the alpha pack; I'm saving your children."

"You're killing people," the Sheriff says, voice low.

"But I'm stopping them from hurting _so many more_ ," the woman's voice grows strong. She's dedicated to her cause.

"They'll stop you," Melissa says, her voice sounding tougher than she probably feels, "You think you're the first big bad to roll into town? They might be kids, but they're better than you can even imagine."

"Oh," Jennifer laughs, "I'm counting on it," she whirls around, looking between the three of them, "I'm not afraid of three teenagers," she sneers, "They're not a threat. Arrows, claws, fangs… none of those three can hurt me."

The Sheriff's not prepared to count on that.

Jennifer almost appears to realise his scepticism, "Oh, Sheriff, you don't believe me, do you? You think because Scott's a True Alpha it will help him save you? You think just because Allison knows how to shoot a gun she can save the day? You think because Stiles already has blue eyes that he'll just entrench that colour deeper in blood? The alpha pack have been in town for four months; why do you think I waited until now?"

"The lunar eclipse," Chris whispers, and the Sheriff and Melissa turn to him, "It's the lunar eclipse tomorrow night. And during a lunar eclipse the moon is blocked out and so the wolves…"

"Won't have any power," the Darach finishes, "No glowing eyes, no fangs… it won't matter if they're beta, alpha, omega. It won’t matter is their eyes are red or blue or gold. Tomorrow night they'll all be human. It's appropriate, I think," she muses, "The mistletoe killed Baldur. Baldur's death precipitated Ragnarok and the end of all times. Now I will end the alpha pack once and for all."

 

"You're telling me that Jennifer is gone?"

"Yes."

"And that she kidnapped Melissa and Chris?"

"Yes."

"So now she has all three sacrifices that she needs?"

"Yes."

"And Scott went with Deucalion?"

"Yes."

"And Lydia and Allison and Stiles and Malia are…?"

"Do I _look_ like I know everything?" Derek whirls around, and both Peter and Isaac flinch back. Anger bubbles in Derek's veins, but he doesn't let it force out the shift. With the full moon tomorrow control is the most important thing to think about.

Scott went with Deucalion. Scott actually went with--

Derek shakes his head violently. This is giving him a headache. And Cora--

Nearby Isaac sits there holding her hand and taking her pain. He's looking at Derek, but he doesn't appear like he wants to move from Cora's side. "Is she dying?" Isaac asks, as Peter dabs at her forehead with a damp towel.

Peter doesn't answer. Derek's uncle looks grim.

"Do you know _anything_?" Isaac glares at the two Hales.

Derek knows about a plan. A rough, crudely constructed plan that was more of a theory but it appeared to be what they were running with.

It's awful.

"You don't know much, do you?" Isaac sneers, "Do you want to figure something out? Because while Scott and Stiles are trying to stop people being killed; I don't see you doing anything!"

He doesn't respond. Because he doesn't know what's going on anymore. He's meant to be an alpha, and this is meant to be his pack. His murderous uncle, his sick sister and a beta who glares at him like he isn't even his. Derek has thrown Isaac away again and again yet he's back here now, and it's not for Derek.

"We're running out of time!" Isaac snaps, tension brimming to the surface in the young beta, "Soon Scott, Stiles and Allison are going to lose their parents and Jennifer is going to murder the alpha pack!"

"No," Peter says, slowly, "She's not. She's going to wait."

"Why should she?" Isaac bristles, "She's got her sacrifices lined up. All she needs to do is kill them."

"Even an emissary powered up with some dead humans isn't enough to take on a pack of alphas," Peter sounds like he's contemplating how that fight would go, "But tomorrow is a lunar eclipse."

Isaac frowns like he's remembering a conversation, "Erica thought we might get more powerful," he says, "But that's… what happens to us during the lunar eclipse?"

"Our power comes from the bite and the virus. But we're affected by the moon reflecting the sun's light back down to earth. During the lunar eclipse the earth casts a shadow between the sun so that no light reflects back. As a consequence, we have no power during that time."

"None?" Isaac asks, "None at all?"

"We'll be as good as human for those fifteen minutes," Peter shrugs, "If I was her, I'd strike then."

"What about Cora?" Isaac asks, desperately, "Couldn't she heal Cora?"

"If she was going to heal Cora, then I'd wager she'd have done it already," Peter drawls, "But that kind of healing drains magic. She'll be saving herself for her grand finale."

"So there is nothing we can do?" Isaac asks, wide-eyed and bitter, "Nothing at all?"

"I don't know of a way to heal Cora," Derek says tiredly and there's a pause as Peter takes a breath as if he's going to say something.

Isaac and Derek turn to look at Peter, who blinks innocently at them. Whatever idea he's going to have, it's not going to be good.

"What?" Derek asks, "Do you know of something?"

"I've heard of a way," Peter shrugs, "But it…" he falls silent, narrowing his eyes and frowning, "It's dangerous."

"What is it?" Isaac leans forwards in anticipation, "I'll do it."

"Unfortunately it's not something you can do," Peter dismisses Isaac, turning to his nephew. Derek feels the full weight of Peter's gaze, "This is something only Derek can do but it comes at a cost."

"What cost?" Derek says, vividly remembering the last words shared between him and Cora: angry accusations and proportioning the blame for those they had lost.

Peter's lips curl up into a smile.

 

"It must have been Morrell," Allison insists, her fingers tapping on the cold wood of her French teacher's desk, "Who else would do something like that? Who else would spray paint our name on the elevator? Who else would try to help?"

"Is that why we're going through her office?" Malia asks from where she's rifling through filing cabinets and papers. "She's obviously not here… she wasn't here yesterday either…"

"She's with Deucalion," Stiles says from where he's slamming through drawers. A school bell rings and they all ignore it. She's missing school, she thinks, but she can't bring herself to care. Allison isn't sure what time it is. All she knows is that she hasn't slept at all. She barely managed to grab a change of clothes from her apartment.

"I don't like this," Allison says, "Why wouldn't you let me take my dad's .45?"

"So you could what?" Stiles deadpans, "Blow her skull in half? She's already half-mauled to death, what exactly is a bullet going to do to hurt her?" he digs into his pocket and holds out something shining and gold. Allison takes in the crushed and battered Sheriff's badge in Stiles' hands, "I don't think lead pellets are going to intimidate her that much."

Allison growls under her breath, fingers twitching. She wants to shoot someone. Stab something. Impulses she should control considering she's in the middle of the school.

She wants her dad.

"They could already be dead," she whispers.

"No," Malia appears right behind her and she jumps. "Isaac sent me a text. Apparently she's waiting for the lunar eclipse. We lose all our powers then."

" _All_ our powers?" Stiles asks, sounding surprised but also fearful. Allison tries to think how that might be bad. She tries to imagine what it's like if she had super hearing and super strength and the instincts of a beast and then lost it.

She knows she can't even begin to imagine it. She's only human.

The only human.

But she's just as tough as any of the werewolves, and she can do this, she can find her dad, rescue him, it will be okay…

A warm hand slips into hers and Allison blinks back tears just in time to give Lydia a weak grin. The banshee smiles like nothing is wrong, like there isn't a bruise of purple ringing her throat, like she wasn't almost killed last night.

What they're doing now is trying to find out why.

"What about Scott?" Malia asks with wide eyes.

"What _about_ Scott?" Lydia sneers, "He left."

"He might phone," Allison shrugs, "Keep your phones on and fully charged."

"Are we going to look for your parents?" the coyote asks, "Because I have the maps and we must be able to narrow down where they could be sooner or later…"

"We don't have time," Stiles shakes his head, "We can't cover that whole area alone."

"She uses the currents," Lydia says from where she's pouring over said maps, "All the bodies have been taken and found at places where the currents are strongest, so wouldn't it make sense that the last three will be as well?"

"But what if she split them up?" Stiles asks, "Or if she's killed them already…"

"Aiden's not responding to my texts," Lydia whispers.

"I still can't believe you have his number," Stiles mutters, just as the door opens.

The four of them freeze. Stiles is rifling through a desk drawer, Allison is paging through books, Malia and Lydia are looking at a map on the floor.

"You here for Ms. Morrell?" Lydia asks the dark skinned girl that has just walked in. She blinks at them in surprise.

"No, I thought this was gym class."

Malia pauses, "This isn't the school gym."

"Is she for real?" the girl asks. Danielle, Allison seems to remember her name is. "What are you doing? Where's the teacher? I have an appointment and she's never late…"

"Hey, I found your files…" Stiles says from where he's gone straight back to being buried in the drawer, "Huh, she's got all our files… Allison… Malia… me… Lydia…

"Those files are private," Lydia says, snatching hers out of his hands, "Give that here… I don't see how something in her office will help us find her, or our parents."

"She was an emissary," Allison argues, "Maybe she understands what this other emissary is going through or something, or maybe she's just trying to do her job. I don't know! She's the only one who might know about what's going on, the only one who might have some clues…"

"Hang on…" Stiles freezes, grabbing something from where Lydia is paging through her file, "That's your tree."

"You were drawing that the other day," Allison recognises it, "It's good."

"Thank you…"

"Yeah," Stiles' eyes flash blue and Allison can't blame him for being tense, "She was drawing it the other day. And the other week. And yesterday. And…" he reaches into his pocket and tugs out a drawing that is crumpled and creased and Allison takes it from him, holding it up next to the other drawing.

It's identical.

"Okay," the black girl makes a quick turn around, "I'll leave you too it - you obviously have bigger issues."

The door slams and Allison stares at the trees that are identical, "This is it," she whispers, holding the drawings side by side, "This is why she tried to hurt you."

"Well… that and I'm apparently a human Geiger counter for death," Lydia adds.

"What's a Geiger counter?" Malia frowns.

Stiles is staring at the drawing in Allison's hands. He's looking at it upside down, but his eyes are widening, and Allison expects it when he takes it from her, "It's not a tree," he says, "Allison, it's not a tree…" he looks up at the three girls, holds up the picture upside down, "It's roots," he tells them, "The roots of the Nemeton. I think Lydia's already found where they are."

"But we don't know where the Nemeton is," Allison says, "Do you know how big the Preserve is? It would take us weeks to find the right tree and this isn't even a normal tree: it's a magical tree that for the past months has been having ritual sacrifices made to it."

"I don't know where it is," Stiles says, "But I might know someone who does."

 

 _The woods are dark and deep_ , Scott recites in his head, _and I have far to go before I sleep._

It's like a storm is starting to brew just over the forest, dark clouds making it seem like late evening already, even though he knows it's only the afternoon.

He doesn't like this. He doesn't like walking at Deucalion's side like he's meant to be there. Like he's special or something precious or…

A wolf howls. They're catching their prey and even this Scott can't handle.

A firefly buzzes, thinking the impeding storm is the night drawing in closer. It's not even meant to be in this region, but it's drawn to the magic of the sacrifices. It's drawn to the dark druid like a moth to a flame. None of the animal behaviours were because of the alpha pack - not the deer, not the cats, not even the birds throwing themselves against the window.

Had Scott payed attention then, had he turned to look at the new teacher standing in the front of the classroom would they even be in this situation?

They couldn't have known.

Could they?

"There seems to be a lot on your mind, Scott," Deucalion says.

"Animals can predict disasters, can't they?" Scott sticks with a safe topic, "Can they predict supernatural disasters as well?"

"Quite possibly," the alpha says, not really seeming that interested. He's more focussed on where the twins and Kali are hunting.

Hunting down a human…

Scott and Deucalion emerge in a clearing where Morrell stands. For a moment Scott can't work out why none of them can get to her, but then he sees the thin line of black. Aiden, not spotting it, throws himself forwards.

It's like a force field. He hits it and bounces straight back into his brother. Morrell lifts up his chin, gazing defiantly at them, "I knew you'd come for me," she says to Deucalion and Scott shifts on instinct away from the man next to him.

"I was willing to let you live, Marin," Deucalion sounds almost reasonable, but Scott thinks this man is more insane than Peter ever was, "But now you're in my way."

The teacher - emissary - in front of them shakes her head, sadly, "You've always hated us, haven't you? Hated and feared us."

"With good reason," Kali paces the other side of the circle, her face twisted in a snarl, "You sent the girl to help that beta escape. You tried to warn the hunters."

"I try to keep the balance," Morrell snaps, not looking at all intimidated by the alphas circling her like a… well… like a pack of wolves.

"Do you know where's she taken my mom?" Scott interrupts, meeting her gaze, "Do you know where the Sheriff and Argent are?"

"You're standing on the wrong side, Scott," Morrell doesn't answer, "Where are your friends? Where is your pack?"

"He has a pack, now," Deucalion sounds almost smug.

"Does he know everything?" Morrell snarls, "Did you tell Kali how Ennis died? How he survived the flash arrow, but then you paid him a visit? Do they know how many bodies you've waded through to get here today?"

Scott anticipates Deucalion's action before he actually moves. Before the alpha can even move his cane, Scott is sidestepping into the way, "No," he says, feeling the brunt of Deucalion's sightless gaze on him, "She's not worth it."

"She's a danger, Scott, and you don't let dangerous people walk away."

Like Gerard, Scott thinks, but Gerard crawled. Gerard crawled away to die, and even if it didn’t come quickly it caught up to him eventually. "She knows where they are,” he argues.

"So let's motivate her to talk," Kali sneers.

"Or let's _ask_ ," Scott snaps back, feeling his eyes flare and Kali frowns at him for a long moment. He wonders what colour his eyes are, but one glance at Morrell and she shakes her head, subtly.

They're not red yet.

But they will be.

They could be.

"The Nemeton," Morrell says, "She's using the Nemeton as a power source. She'll wait until the last minute and then use the Nemeton."

Deucalion looks mildly intrigued that she actually answered. Scott's shoulders slump in relief, "Okay. So where is it?"

The emissaries' smile is thin, "That is where we have a problem."

 

"Stilinski."

It's one man who keeps Stiles from doing anything. It's one man who drags them into a classroom to talk when they should be finding their parents.

"Where are your other friends?" Rafael McCall asks Stiles. Allison, he thinks, stayed mostly to keep him company, but he appreciates it. She sits beside him on the desk and Rafael tries to ignore the fact she is there.

"You mean Scott?"

"Your whole little clique - none of you showed up for classes. You're in school, but not in lessons. What's going on?"

"Clique?" Stiles blinks at the word choice.

"Yes. Isaac Lahey. Malia Tate. Cora Hale. Lydia Martin. Scott. None of them showed up for school today."

"We prefer the term 'Pack'," Stiles didn't answer the question. He exchanges a grin with Allison.

"Funny," McCall says, "Your dad didn't show up for work today. In fact… his car is still in the car park from last night."

"I told you," Stiles says, "He's following leads."

"So why isn't he answering his phone?" McCall sighs, "He's already been declared missing, Stiles. You know it; I know it, now just tell me what you know."

Stiles sighs, "Why do you think I know anything?"

McCall sighs, "You and your friends have appeared at several crime scenes in the past month. And that's not even counting the animal attack business last year involving Kate _Argent_."

Allison flinches, and then strikes back. "You're Scott's dad, aren't you?" she asks with wide eyes, "You know it's funny. I don't think he ever mentioned you."

Stiles can't stop the grin from spreading across his face as Rafael flinches. "Stiles, if you know anything at all…"

"If I knew, then why wouldn't I not tell you? I would tell you if I had anything I thought telling you would help you to help me help my dad that was worth telling you. Personally I don't know how to help you help me tell you something that would help you if I don't know it."

Allison stifles a giggle. McCall frowns, "You're doing this on purpose."

"No," Stiles sighs, "I don't know anything that can help you. But I know that Allison and I have somewhere to be, and it isn't here, talking to you."

 

"What do you mean you don't know where it is?"

"I mean…" Peter says through gritted teeth, "That after some… less than cheerful experiences mucking around beneath the roots of that thing, my sister took the memories from us."

"She took the memories," Malia deadpans.

"Yes," Peter meets her gaze with a flash of blue eyes, "It's a thing that alphas can do. You and Lydia, I thought, were aware of that after that wonderful afternoon we spent together."

"I remember it fondly," Lydia says, smiling, "Allison left you paralyzed and electrocuted on the floor. We should do it again, sometime."

Peter looks mildly offended while Derek just frowns, face creased in worry, "So you know where she's keeping them, but not how to get there?"

"What about Malia?" Isaac asks, from over by Cora, "You spent years in the woods, right?"

"As a coyote," Malia looks wary, "I don't… I never came across any large tree trunks. Not that I remember."

"And the Nemeton has a way of hiding itself. It's a magical tree sitting on the convergence of power and magic and supernatural forces beyond our comprehension."

"Great," Lydia says, "So we're back where we started."

Malia's phone buzzes and she tugs it out of her pocket, "Not quite."

 

Scott meets them at the animal clinic.

Allison is huddled next to Isaac. Stiles is standing next to Lydia and he won't meet Scott's gaze as he enters. Malia perches on one of the operating tables, her feet swinging, head snapping up as he enters.

"Good," Deaton says, "You're here."

Scott swallows and his throat is so, so dry. "They're at the Nemeton," he says.

"We know," Lydia responds, "But nobody knows where it is."

Scott shakes his head, feeling despair overwhelm him.

"Luckily for you," Deaton says, slowly, "I know of a way you can find it. It's dangerous. And I need Stiles, Allison and Scott. That's why you're here."

Scott takes a deep breath, "I'm in."

"How dangerous?" Lydia asks.

Deaton looks around the room at the six teenagers, "The three of you will be surrogate sacrifices for your parents. By taking their place, even if only for a moment, you'll establish a bond with the Nemeton."

Isaac looks up, and glances to Allison as if she's slightly crazy for even considering this, "Sacrifices?" he queries, "So they'll…"

Deaton nods slowly, "They'll be dead, yes."

"But he can bring us back," Stiles adds, then pauses, "You can bring us back, right?"

The vet nods, but it's slow in coming, "Hopefully you'll only be dead for a few seconds. Just enough to establish a bond. A connection. But it's dangerous. The connection runs both ways. You gain knowledge from the Nemeton, but it will gain power from you. It's been dead for years, and while it was once a protection for this town, if it regains power it will have the strength, but not the protection."

"So you're saying we're going to have a nuclear reactor of supernatural power?" Lydia asks. For once, Malia doesn't even bother to ask what a nuclear reactor is.

She just asks, "We'll find them, though, right?"

"The Nemeton has been dead for years. Reigniting it's power… it's like igniting a fire. Like…"

"Lighting a beacon," Allison whispers.

"You'll be linked to it, even after," Deaton says, "It won't be fully alive, it will still be partially dead."

Stiles blinks, "So we'll be partially dead?"

The vet winces, pulling a face, "More like… the Nemeton's tainted now. With a darkness. You'll feel it too, because of your link to it. It will be like… a permanent scar around your heart.

"That doesn't sound too bad," Scott says, "Can't be much worse than what we've already seen, huh?"

Allison nods, and Stiles turns to Deaton, "We'll do it. What do we need to do?"

 

"You said I could help her," Derek whispers, once everyone's gone and it's just him and Peter, "How?"

"In actual wolf packs, the pack will care for sick members. They bring injured wolves food, groom them, provide emotional and physical comfort…"

"How is this relevant?" Derek snaps, "Just tell me what you know!"

"It's something only an alpha can do," Peter says, casually, "You have more power than other werewolves. When we take pain we take the pain into our body to heal it. With the extra power an alpha has, you can take that pain and just a little bit more, taking the illness itself."

"How do I do it?"

"Carefully. Like everything, it has a cost. You can only do it once, because once you've done it, you lose that alpha spark inside of you."

"So I wouldn't be an alpha anymore," Derek realises, gaze drifting up to Peter and the only thing he can think is that at least then he can stop worrying about his uncle murdering him in his sleep.

He's not been much of an alpha anyway.

"How do I do this?"

"Wait a minute," Peter sounds rushed, "The alphas are still coming after you and you wouldn't be able to face them as a beta."

"I could," Derek says, "If I had to."

"You'll die."

"But at least Cora will be alive!" he snaps, and he can't bear it, seeing his vibrant, fierce sister so still and near death. It's agony.

She's already died once.

He won't let her die a second time.

 

They dig out troughs from the back of the vet clinic. Deaton fills them with cold water and Lydia and Malia pour in ice cubes by the dozen. Deaton digs out a jar of white fruit and leaves, sprinkling them in. Stiles recognises the plant.

"Why the mistletoe?" Isaac asks, narrowing his eyes at the flows of ice and bone white berries floating in it.

"The druids esteem nothing more sacred than the mistletoe and that tree on which it grows, provided only that the tree is an oak." They all turn to look at Lydia who just shrugs, "What? I did my summer reading. Didn't you?"

"You're not actually going to die," Deaton says, as if that news is reassuring to the three who are standing at the edge of the tubs, shivering before they've even got in them, "But if we slow your heart rate down enough, the three of you will slip into a trance-like state, and in that state you'll be able to connect to the Nemeton. The three of you will take the place of your parents as the final sacrifice."

"How slow will their hearts have to be?" Lydia asks.

"Very slow."

"How slow is very slow?"

"Nearly dead."

Lydia shakes her head, "I don't like that. That doesn't sound safe; there are too many risks…"

"This is the only way," Allison pleads, "Please, we have to find them. My dad… he's all I have left."

"I'm with Allison," Stiles says. Malia just looks grim behind him.

Stiles can't imagine losing his dad.

Or maybe he can. He remembers the teetering madness and claws in his head and he thinks he might not know what it will be like, but he can guess at the end result.

In his hand he curls his fingers around his dad's badge. Allison has a silver bullet. A real to god silver bullet. Scott has a watch, and it's not ticking.

Not anymore.

It feels ominous. Stiles wonders if they've already run out of time.

"You'll need someone to hold you down," Deaton says, "But that someone needs to be able to pull you back. A sort of… emotional tether."

There are three teenagers about to die and three not. Stiles looks up, gaze meeting Lydia's for a moment before he turns to the girl right next to him.

"Okay," Malia whispers, her eyes wide and sad, "For your dad."

He swallows down a lump in his throat.

Lydia steps over to Allison and Isaac offers Scott a weak smile. "I trust you," Scott says to Isaac.

"Really?" Isaac laughs weakly, "Because I wouldn't trust me."

Stiles tugs off his jumper, leaving himself in just his t-shirt and jeans. He leaves it on a counter top, and hopes to god that Deaton has some towels for after this experience.

The water ripples slightly, green sprigs of mistletoe in shards of ice. It looks cold. Uninviting.

But he has to do it. And he has to believe he will come out of the other side in one piece.

It will be okay.

It’s not the first time he has drowned.

 

Malia doesn't like the idea of the water. Or the drowning.

"It's okay," Stiles tries to reassure her as he stands in front of the tub, as if drowning isn't his worst fear.

"It's not."

"No," he admits with ease and a tiny laugh that catches in his throat and chokes him, "No, you know when you're drowning you don't actually inhale until right before you black out? It's called voluntary apnea."

"But you inhale in the end?"

"Only right at the end. Even through the panic and the freaking out, you won't until the last second. And then it… it stops hurting. It guess it will be kind of peaceful."

Stiles shouldn't be drowning, Malia thinks. Stiles is fire, alive and vibrant and _burning_.

He shouldn't be extinguished so easily.

Humans, Malia thinks, they're just sparks, waiting to be lit. They're potential, for something, for anything. Once bitten they change. Stiles sparks to life, becoming fire blazing across the forest. Scott's more solid. Reassuring. The earth beneath her paws. Allison stays smooth and calm and fluid like water.

Lydia's the ice to Stiles' fire. The cold chill of death and the frost in the dead of winter. The pair are both volatile elements. They're lethal alone, two extremes and together…

They're explosive.

She turns to look at where Lydia is standing behind Allison. The banshee meets her gaze with a weak smile.

A year ago Malia was still in the woods. A year ago she was still a coyote.

She had wanted to go back. She had wanted to shift and to run around in her fur coat like nothing had changed.

She doesn't want that anymore.

She feels Stiles' shoulders under her palms, warm and vibrant and alive.

No, she thinks, she doesn't want to go back.

 

The three in the water lose their breath in a rush as the cold hits them. Allison's hands shake, and she barely manages to keep hold of the shining silver bullet with the Argent seal embossed into it.

"By the way," Stiles says, as if he has to have the last word. He turns to look at Scott, "If you make it back and I don't…" he pauses and Scott’s expression is one of alarm before he keeps talking, "You should probably know something. Your dad's in town."

Allison thinks he has really rubbish timing, but she's finding it hard to breath. Her lungs keep hitching as her shoulders sink into the cold, and she feels Lydia behind her.

For one terrible, awful moment she's scared. She's terrified.

She's dying.

She's going to drown in ice and mistletoe. She's going to die.

She's going to let her best friend kill her.

She wants to scramble out of there. She wants to run and hide and pretend that everything is okay.

But at home, the apartment is cold and empty. Her dad is gone. Cora is sick. Her friends are here.

So she stays.

Allison is an Argent, a warrior, carved out of silver and jet.

She can do this.

She lets Lydia push her under.


	22. Lunar

Lydia just watched her best friend, her equal and her (dare she say it) _alpha_ … die. She watched them sink beneath the water, she watched the bubbles drift upwards until the moment they began to struggle, trying for that last gasp of air.

She remembers the feel of Allison's shoulders as she held the huntress down. The way her friend had struggled and lashed out, water splashing everywhere until it wasn’t and she went limp. Limp and lifeless and for all purposes, dead.

Sixteen hours.

The trio had been dead sixteen hours. Sixteen hours of Lydia, Malia and Isaac huddled around the troughs. Sixteen hours of Malia tilting her head to check her anchor's heart was still beating, however faintly. Sixteen hours of sitting in the same room as to what essentially amounted to three corpses.

They weren't breathing. It wasn't possible - their bodies should have been starved of oxygen hours ago but yet still none of them breathe.

"How long should we wait?" Isaac asks, as if he's scared to, "How long before we call someone and watch them put them in a morgue drawer?"

"We wait," she says.

"We're not putting them in a…" Malia pauses, "What's a morgue?"

"A place where they put dead bodies," Isaac says, voice sounding like he's complaining but Lydia knows that's only to hide the fear, "Like the three dead bodies floating in water that started out icy but it's Luke-warm now, it's been that long. Like those three dead bodies that we killed, oh god, we're going to be arrested. Well… we would be arrested if Stiles' father hadn't been kidnapped by a Darach."

"Imagine waking up in a morgue drawer," Lydia whispers, "No, we have to wait. We give them as much time as they need."

"The lunar eclipse is tonight. What if…"

"Don't. Say it," she says through gritted teeth. "They will wake up."

Someone has to believe.

 

Scott dies with ice cold water pressing down on his lungs.

Scott dies, feeling like his head is about to explode, like he's suffering the worst asthma attack ever.

Scott dies.

That's meant to be it.

He's not meant to wake up again, but wake up he does. His eyes fly open and he lurches upwards, gasping for oxygen. The water swirls violently around him as he grasps onto the edge of the tub, his vision greying and black. He's aware of Stiles and Allison doing the same next to him, trying to suck air back into their oxygen deprived lungs.

It didn't work, is Scott's first thought. He didn't see anything while trapped under the water. Surely this can't be it?

Then he looks around, realising that he's not in the animal clinic. He can still feel the faint impression of Isaac's hands holding him down, but there is nobody else there.

The room is large and white. The floor, the walls, the ceiling… it's all white. It goes on as far as he can see, forever and ever and…

Scott's eyes focus on something in the distance, and without really thinking he climbs out of the tub, water dripping off him and onto the floor. His feet are bare and the floor is cool to the touch. It sends shivers down his spine as he sends concerned glances to where Stiles and Allison look half drowned next to him as they follow his example, dripping pools of water onto the floor. Stiles' t-shirt is brown, but it's so water sodden it's turned black. Allison's hair drips down her back as they look around, taking in the room.

At regular intervals bright square lights are built into the ceiling. There are pillars of white holding the roof up.

If this is death, Scott thinks; then at least it's peaceful.

They turn slowly, and he's not sure who sees it first, only that it's there. In the distance roots break through the white and grey tiles is the brown bark of an oaken tree trunk.

He's seen it before, he thinks, walking towards it. The trunk seems miles away but as he walks it looms closer. It's massive, with weeds and dried twigs growing around it. His gaze traces the rings and whorls of the trunk going around and around in circles and he feels the tattoo banding his arm tighten, like a chain binding him to this tree trunk.

Stiles and Allison linger behind silent, just watching him. So he takes the first step, moving forwards, and reaching out. Laying his palm flat on the trunk, he feels the warm pulse of _something_ beneath it. His eyes drift closed and he feels, more than sees the world change around him.

Dead is dead is dead is dead.

Scott's palm touches the trunk and the air around him shudders and he opens his eyes to a dark forest.

There are voices drifting through the trees. Scott turns around, catching sight of a teenage boy in a dark red hoodie stumbling through the trees, shouting down to someone at the bottom of a steep bank, _"Stiles! You okay? Answer me…"_

It's him.

It's him with long hair and soft eyes and features still youthful and innocent. He trips his way over, murmuring something about a lost inhaler and flinching from the deer that crash out of nowhere.

Scott remembers this night. Scott dreams about it sometimes, the way his phone lights over Laura Hale's wide glassy eyes and the way his voice trembles as he calls down to where his friend is.

_"Stiles. Stiles, I think there's something else out there…"_

That's when the monstrous form of Peter tumbles out of the wood with fangs and claws and Scott's life changes forever.

He stumbles back, away from the memory, and he almost walks right into it. His legs are knocked out from under him and he reaches over, grabbing onto the large tree trunk to steady him.

He grabs onto the Nemeton.

Behind him, the scene changes. In the distance there is a howl, and behind him Stiles crouches over him, his clawed hands slick with Scott's blood.

 _"You have to understand, Scott,"_ the shadow of Stiles whispers earnestly, _"I'm doing this for us. It's for all of us. No more hunters. No more threats. We can be strong. We can be pack."_

 _“You’re already my pack,”_ the past Scott chokes out, _“But not… Not like this. Never like this.”_

Next to him the Nemeton pulses, whispers of power trickling through into him, and he knows where this is. He can find this again, he can remember…

For a moment he can see the tree. He can see what it would have looked like; fully grown with branches reaching into the sky.

But it's dead and gone and Scott's dead and in his chest his heart stutters back to life.

 

Scott touches the tree trunk and it's like a rollercoaster where Stiles' world falls out from beneath his feet. He's sent stumbling and tripping his way into shadows and darkness. He grabs onto a tree for support, looking up and trying to work out where he is.

He's in the preserve. It's dark and he's soaking wet, dripping water down onto the forest floor. It's cold out, sometime in winter and his breath steams in front of him.

_"Dude, come on, we have to go, we have to **run** …"_

Through the trees he sees himself, pale and skinny with short, buzzed hair. He sees himself cradling his arm to his chest with the dark shadow of fangs tattooed into the skin in a bloody, messy wound. He sees himself limping, Scott dragging him as they run, limp, _hop_ their way out of the woods.

 _"It bit me,"_ his memory says, sounding disgusted, _"It bit me…"_

 _"Yeah?"_ past Scott laughs, sounding hysterical, _"I think it tried to take a chunk out of my side. I feel like a chew toy."_

_"Maybe you didn't taste nice?"_

_"Maybe, but it was almost like it didn't want me dead."_

_"Oh yeah? It seemed to want me dead pretty badly. That's was terrifying. Cool, but terrifying. Dude, promise me, next time I want to look for a dead body in the woods, you're saying 'no' okay?"_

_"Oh trust me. I'm never listening to any of your ideas again."_

Stiles turns away from where his past self is limping away, knowing already what he's going to see. Now he knows what to look for, he's seen it before. The tang of oak and ozone sits there, innocuously hidden amongst the trees and leaves strewn around the forest, but he knows now what it is.

_“You’re the one who dragged us into the woods looking for a dead body!”_

Stiles flinches as he looks back to the clearing, to where Scott takes a threatening step forwards with a syringe full of ketamine in his hand, eyes flaring gold with anger.

 _“So it’s **my** **fault**?”_ He looks ill. Pale skinned with dark shadows under his eyes and his hair a mess as he tries to get Scott to see reason, _“You blame me for your little hunter girlfriend? For letting first Lydia, then Jackson, and then **Allison** find out about us? And **now**? Now her aunt knows. Her sociopathic **bitch** aunt is going to shoot us. She’s going to **kill** **us** , Scott, and if she can’t get us, she’ll go after my dad. She’ll go after Melissa. Don’t you **get** that?”_

Death is the end, Stiles thinks, but this? This is the beginning. This was the very start of it all.

Life isn't a straight line with a beginning and an end. Life is infinity. Life is an ourobouros, eating its own tail, constantly rebirthing and dying and it goes around and around and--

Stiles thinks they've finally come around in a full circle.

Behind him, the tree trunk rings around and around and it hums, like it knows they've been there since the start.

Stiles lives, Stiles dies, and Stiles lives again in one never-ending circle.

 

 _“Wait,"_ Allison pauses, reaching out a hand to try and slow down Derek who hovers impatiently. There isn't time to waste; they have to get to the Hale House, they have to get to Kate before Peter does.

 _"What is it?"_ he stresses, _"We need to go! Now! Before the hunters get here!"_

 _"No…"_ Allison whispers, tilting her head to one side like she's listening, _"I heard something…"_

_“Allison, I’m a werewolf, and I didn’t hear anything.”_

_“No, that’s Scott. It’s Scott!”_ she doesn't wait before taking off through the trees. She doesn't look back, doesn't turn around to see what becomes of Derek. She just keeps moving towards where she knows in her bones her companions are.

She bursts out of the trees just in time to stop Stiles tearing Scott into smaller pieces than he already has. She bursts out of the trees just in time to distract a desperate Stiles with a mad look in his blue eyes.

Soaked to the bone and wearing nothing more than thin underwear, Allison stumbles backwards away from the clearing. She turns and almost walks straight into the Nemeton that sits there, almost smugly.

 _"Allison!"_ her mom grabs a past version of her, dragging her away and dropping the inhaler in the dirt, _"Allison, we didn't run anything over, okay? Now let's go: you have school tomorrow, I'll drive you in if you're going to stop for every poor animal on the side of the road…"_

It's been here, Allison thinks, the Nemeton has been here all the time, right from the very start.

And for the first time since last night, she lets herself feel hope. They stand a chance now of finding their parents. They know where they are, they can still save them…

Allison lets the flame of hope burn brighter as her heart starts beating again.

 

Being dead is a natural state of being. It's the end of the cycle, the last page of the book. It is the conclusion everywhere hurtles towards no matter how tragic. Dead is dead is dead is dead.

Coming back to life, though?

That's where things get tricky.

As Peter Hale will tell you, you don't come back the same.

The night draws in, the moon rises nearly full, and somewhere three teenagers die.

Peter watches as Derek sits down besides Cora, grits his teeth and takes her pain. He lets out a pained cry at it hits him, then falls silent as his veins turn black. Cora's eyes fly open and she meets her brother's gaze in startled bewilderment as his eyes flare red. He takes the pain until there is nothing left and he keeps taking it.

His eyes flare red like a raw, open wound, and then the fierce hue bleeds out of it until they're violet, then blue. The open wound heals, becoming nothing more than an old scar, emblazed across Derek's eyes.

The last alpha power of the Hales dies just like that. With red eyes turning blue and Cora gasping back to life. The last alpha power of the Hale line dies and Peter turns away, a dark smirk on his face.

 

It's like a miracle.

Lydia has seen her friends die. Now she watches it in reverse.

Malia notices first. According to her Stiles' heart beat picks up half a pace. Then moving closer there is a visible change. Their skin - pale and white and dead - gains a flush of colour. It's like someone is breathing life back into them.

Seconds later Scott's eyes fly open and for a moment Lydia thinks she sees vivid crimson red, but then with a splash and a gasp of air, his eyes are brown and he's pulling himself up.

There is another swell of water from Allison and Stiles, their hands tugging themselves out of the water. The mistletoe is still swimming around, a piece sticks in Allison's hair. The ice however has long since melted.

The three sucking in air, their heart racing, just spent sixteen hours dead, Lydia thinks.

"I saw it," Scott says, moving and clambering out of the trough and full of life, "I know where it is…"

"We've been there… the same night we got bitten by Peter… the same night Kate died… we were right there…"

"I've been there too… that night Scott tried to knock Stiles out with the ketamine. I found them both there, and on my way into town I made my mom stop to look for something she'd almost run over…"

All three of them are moving and living and breathing and Lydia can't quite believe it. It's like Schrödinger's Cat - at what point does something have to be dead to be dead?

"Why are you looking at us like that?" Stiles notices first, her expression of horror.

"You were dead," Malia goes the blunt way.

"Not for long," Allison reassures.

"Yes, for long," Isaac says, "Sixteen hours."

"Sixteen hours?" Stiles repeats, turning his gaze to where Deaton is, "You said we'd be dead for a couple of seconds!"

Scott who had been all movement and adrenaline freezes, "How much time?" he whispers, "How much time do we have left?"

Lydia glances first to Isaac, then to Malia. Deaton is the one who says it, the one who tell them how much time they've lost. "Four hours," he says, and Lydia doesn't know if this was worth it.

They know where their parents are, but they might already be too late.

 

The wind howls around them, persistent in it's presence.

A little bit more earth crumples down onto the Sheriff's face and he coughs it away, feeling the dry taste stick to his tongue. He's lost track of time, but he's been here for over a day. Maybe longer. They haven't seen Jennifer since she was last here, and he knows in his heart the next time he'll see her it will be to kill them.

Chris is grunting and has his head craned around to his back pocket, tugging something out with his teeth. He's been working on that for the past hour and it looks painful, but Melissa just eyes him executively, "What is that?" she asks.

"Ultrasonic emitter," Chris spits it out and moves his bound hand to the small silver thing, sliding it in the dirt so he can get to it more easily. It's not a weapon, or anything that looks remotely useful.

"That was dramatic," Melissa deadpans, her voice unsteady. The Sheriff wants nothing more than to wrap his arms around her to comfort her, to tell her they won't die down here but that… that would be a lie.

"What does it do?" he asks, not even trying to pretend that he knows what an ultrasonic emitter is.

"It's a smaller version of what we use to corral werewolves. It's like a high pitched dog whistle."

"Expensive dog whistle," the Sheriff says, "Will the werewolves hear it?"

Chris grunts as he pushes the button, "Let's find out, shall we?"

 

Allison shivers as Isaac pulls up her car outside her apartment block. Scott pulls up just behind them on his bike and he doesn't look cold at all. She doesn't know how he can't feel it - the cold, bone deep ice that pierces through to her very soul. Maybe it's because he's a werewolf. Or maybe it's because he's Scott McCall. She doesn't know. She just tugs the towel still wrapped around her shoulders around her tighter, wondering if Isaac would mind lending her some of his werewolf warmth.

Isaac looks worried. Stressed. Somewhere Cora is apparently ill. Maybe not, if the endless frenzy of texts from Derek keeping Isaac in the loop is anything to go by. The beta werewolf next to her looks twitchy, like he wants to go and make sure Cora is okay.

And they will. But first Allison has to pick up weapons, and Isaac needs to pick up a scent.

"And me?" Malia leans forwards, sticking her head between the seats curiously. She's got Stiles' jacket on; despite the fact the werewolf had looked almost as frozen as Allison is. It's possibly because the moon is rising and even Allison can't miss the way Malia's claws have curled out already in anticipation. Stiles' jacket is the best they can do, Stiles' scent there to keep the coyote somewhat tethered as the full moon rises.

"Check out the alpha pack's condo," Scott says as they climb out towards the elevator, "I doubt they'd leave anything incriminating around, but just check it out… there might be some clue or something up there. If there isn't, just come back down and we'll meet Stiles and Lydia in the preserve."

"Or, y'know," Isaac shrugs, "You'll meet Deucalion, Stiles and Allison will find Jennifer and--"

"That's an awful plan," Malia says.

"Yeah," Allison just agrees, "It really, really is."

The elevator door opens and Malia runs her fingers through her long hair, looking slightly desperate but she lets them go. Allison has her keys already in her hand, unlocking her apartment door and letting them in. "Just grab one of my dad's shirts," she tells Scott, "He should have plenty around. Where's Stiles?"

"Trying to get me to smell his dad's boxers," Scott wrinkles his nose, "Just grab some socks, dude…" he says, typing out messages into his phone, "Lydia's already grabbed a scarf of my mom's and--" Scott freezes, looking up past Allison and she whirls around, the study door open behind her.

It's not empty; three people stand there, three strangers and - oh, no, that would be a lie because she knows who the one tall guy is, even if his gaze didn't go straight past her to where Scott stands.

"Argent," he says, then with his voice a little hoarse, "Scott…"

"Dad," Scott says, because while Stiles had warned him, he obviously didn't expect this meeting right here, right now.

Rafael McCall clears his throat, "You too, Isaac."

Allison steps into the room, feeling Scott follow and hearing the footsteps as Isaac sidles into view. "What are you doing here?" Allison demands, voice tense, "This is my father's apartment and if he knew you were here…"

"Your dad hasn't been seen since the recital the other night," McCall says, stiffly, "And certainly not since your name was spray-painted on the elevator doors. Care to tell me about that?"

Allison doesn't say anything. She takes a seat as McCall lounges back in her dad's desk chair like he owns it. Scott settles the other side and Isaac creeps into the middle seat. Obnoxiously, Isaac pulls out a box of mints and pops one into his mouth. He doesn't offer anyone else one, but Allison snatches the box from him anyway. She hasn't eaten in over twenty-four hours and she's been dead for sixteen of those.

McCall looms over them, gesturing at where all her father's weapons are laid out on the desk. She spots Scott eyeing up the flash arrows, and Isaac seems to be leaning away from the assault rifles. "I have a desk full of weapons," McCall sighs, "Your house is like a personal armoury, and your father is nowhere in sight. Not to mention I can't track the Sheriff down, nor can I find your mother," his gaze rests heavily on Scott.

"Well," Isaac says, chewing on his mint, "At least you don't have to worry about my parents, since both are dead."

McCall doesn't quite seem to know what to do with that.

"Mom's fine," Scott lies, "Maybe she just doesn't want to see you again."

"She missed a shift at work today, Scott. She hasn't been seen since the evacuation at the hospital two nights ago."

"My dad's out of town," Allison shrugs, "I can give you his number but he turns his phone off. As for the Sheriff: Stiles told you. He's investigating leads."

"For two days?" McCall sounds sceptical, "You know I might not know an awful lot, but I think you do."

"You can't keep us here," Allison challenges, "Not without a warrant."

The FBI agent smiles. It's thin and he isn't enjoying this. He's just trying to do what he thinks is right, and if it means dragging them through the mud then so be it, "I have a desk full of weapons. Enough to arm a small gang."

Pack, Allison thinks, but doesn't say anything. From somewhere over there heads there is a small crash. Allison just closes her eyes as the FBI agent's eyes drift upwards. She wonders what Malia knocked over. She wonders if the coyote found anything.

"My father is a high respected private security consultant," she says, to distract them, standing up and pacing over to the end of the desk, "He's a federally licensed firearms dealer, he has to own a few weapons." She leans over, pointing them out, "Like this 175-pound draw tactical crossbow. Or this carbon steel marine combat knife. 50ae Desert Eagle." She looks up to where the agent is staring at her tiredly, then her gaze flickers to where Scott is watching her.

Her fingers tap once twice thrice on the table in warning before she decides just to go for it, picking up the silver cylinder.

"Huh," she says, showing it to McCall, "Smoke grenade with a pull ring igniter," she explains, seconds before she yanks out the pin and throws it at the agent's feet. She darts out of there, hearing the hacking coughs behind her.

There is a frantic, "Scott, wait," from Scott's dad, but nobody listens. Scott and Isaac are on her heels, Isaac even managing to grab her dad's shirt as they slam her apartment door closed.

The elevator opens as they get there, Malia already inside. "You stink," she says, in greeting.

"Did you steal my dad's flash arrows?" Allison accuses Scott who is stuffing said flash bombs in his pocket.

"Maybe," he said, "You stole his crossbow."

"It's _my_ crossbow. Not that I'm going to tell your dad that."

"Your dad is kind of a dick," Isaac says, "No offense."

"None taken. Was there anything upstairs?" Scott asks Malia.

"Yeah," she says, tugging out a map, "I know where Deucalion is going to be."

"Where's that?" Scott asks.

"Same place it all started. The same distillery where Gerard blinded him."

 

Cora stares at her brother.

He looks like he's sleeping, but his heartbeat is just slightly too erratic, suggesting he's still awake.

She wants to ask him. She want to know so many things, the first of many being 'why did you do it?'

But instead she keeps silent, and she allows him to understand how grateful she is by the silent forgiveness shining in her eyes. "The fire wasn't your fault," she whispers. It seems to settle him as his eyes drift open, watching her, "It wasn't," Cora said, "So don't ever let yourself think that. Okay?"

"This is touching," Peter says from where he's sitting on his favourite perch on the staircase, "Now do either of you have a plan about dealing with the alphas that are coming here for your head?"

"I don't," Derek admits, and he's different. Now he's not an alpha, it's like there is a weight off his shoulder. "But Scott does. And I trust Scott."

Cora notes the spark of irritation in Peter's eyes, but she doesn't comment on it. Instead she checks her phone. "Isaac and Malia are heading to look for the parents. Scott's going back to Deucalion."

"Still want to trust _Scott_?" Peter's tone is not pleasant.

"Yes," there isn't a single hesitation in Derek's voice, "Yes, I trust Scott."

"Are you crazy?" Peter snaps, "If you don't join them, then Kali is going to rip you apart, not to mention those twins who look like they'd enjoy ripping you limb from limb!"

"So what are you saying we do?" Cora challenges her uncle, and his pale blue gaze meets hers for a moment before Peter is the one who is forced to look away.

"Leave," he says to Derek, "Run. Crawl. _Skip_ your way out of this town."

"I've already left once," Cora says, even though Peter wasn't talking to her, "I'm not leaving again."

"I'm with Cora."

"I'm not going to hang around to watch you die," Peter says, as if he cares.

"Then don't stay," Derek says, shoving himself up. He stumbles and Cora grabs onto his arm, holding him until he gets his balance back. He shoots her a grateful smile and she returns it.

She'd missed her brother.

"Fine," Peter spins around, "Fine, _die_. See if I care."

The loft door slams closed and Cora turns to Derek. She doesn't do something as stupid as ask if he's okay with this. But she meets his gaze, sees her own resolution reflected back at her and she nods at his own unspoken question.

The alphas are coming.

And they're going to be there to meet them.

 

"Running a little late, aren't you, Scott?"

The moonlight falls through the ragged metal at the one side of the old distillery, scattering in a spiral of light on the floor. Deucalion is already there, waiting for him, like he already knows that Scott will find him. He doesn't answer, just shrugs and steps forwards towards the older man.

Once, he thinks, if what Peter or Gerard said was true, then once Deucalion was a great man.

But he can't see that now and even great men can fall.

Scott can't stop Jennifer without the alpha pack, but he and Deucalion are the only ones there. "Where are Kali and the twins?" he asks, looking around, but there isn't a sight nor scent of them.

"Occupying themselves," Deucalion says, evasively.

Scott doesn't like the sound of that.

 

Isaac watches as Scott vanishes between the trees to look for Deucalion. Next to him Malia shifts anxiously, already scenting the air. "Stiles said it was about here," she says, hopping forwards slightly, "I can't smell anything… the storm is too much…"

Somewhere a branch falls down with a loud crash making both shifters jump. Isaac starts forwards, thinking that Stiles or Allison should be the ones doing this. They, after all, know where to look. Isaac is trying to work from their instructions.

It's still more than they had one day ago. Malia goes first, picking her way through the trees with an ease that has come from years of living here as a coyote. Her footsteps are light as she moves through the leaf litter, pacing forwards on the balls of her feet.

Isaac follows, casting one last look at his phone and hoping that Scott knows what he's doing.

"Which way now?" he asks, almost walking into where Malia has paused, glancing up and down the forest track.

"I'm not sure!" she says, spinning around.

"Hang on--" Isaac says, "I think I hear something…"

There's a high pitched whine that sounds like one of Argent's whistles. He turns, trying to work out where the sound is coming from.

"This way!" he says, because they're so close now. Malia can hear it too, and that means that Chris is nearby. And where Chris is, so will Melissa and the Sheriff and the Nemeton and--

"Little betas shouldn't be out here alone," Kali sneers, stepping straight into their path. Malia skids to a halt and Isaac once again almost crashes into her. Kali's eyes are red and she's barefoot, her claws extended.

Malia snarls, a visceral and violent thing.

Kali doesn't look the least bit intimidated, "So the way I hear it," she croons, "Is that the only alphas in Beacon Hills are us." She laughs, but the sound gets blown away by the wind, "I guess that means that I can clear up the mess."

"I thought you wanted Derek!" Isaac challenges, glaring at Kali. He backs away, making as if to go another way around but with a crunch of twigs and leaves, the twins step into his way.

"Derek?" Kali scoffs, "Why would we waste our time with Derek? The last of the Hales. The end of an era. He can't even hold onto his own pack or power." Her gaze rakes across them, "And as for Scott… well… either he succeeds or he doesn't. It's not a big loss."

"We're not your enemy," Malia snaps to the twins, "We're on the same side… we're trying to stop Jennifer from murdering three more people! Let us go! We still have time to save them!"

"If Jennifer completes her sacrifices, then nobody can stop her," Aiden snaps, "So we're going to stop her from completing the sacrifices."

"So are _we_ ," Isaac says, but something tells him that's not what the others are talking about. "We're going to _save_ them," he emphasises.

Kali scoffs, "Save them? Oh, no. What's to stop her still using them later? No. We've got a better plan than that: we're going to kill them."

 

"We weren't expecting you."

"Who were you expecting? Do lots of people visit you on the night of a full moon?"

"We were looking out for the alpha with the psychotic foot fetish," Cora deadpans.

Stiles tugs open the loft door. It slides open and he's half expecting dead bodies. It's a relief to look at the floor of the loft and to see it looks normal:  dusty and unbloodied.

From where she's standing serenading Cora and Derek with whatever sob story she's come up with now, Jennifer turns slowly around to look at them. She looks like she just walked off a catwalk with a leather jacket and her hair artfully scattered over her back. She looks relaxed, and not at all threatened in the fact that she's clearly outnumbered five to one. "Ah," she says, gaze skirting over the three teenagers, "Here comes the banshee, right on time. I hope it's because you've foreseen several deaths in the near future."

Lydia doesn't answer, her lips pressed together as if trying to hold back a scream. She glances sideways towards Stiles, gaze triumphant. She's found them the Darach, now it's up to Stiles and Allison to do the rest.

"So where are they?" Cora challenges, "Where are the alphas?"

"Not here," Lydia says with the conviction that it is a clearly stated fact. Maybe for her it is, maybe that's how her powers work and Lydia just knows things like that now...

Nobody can know with the same certainty that a banshee has about something.

"They'll come," Jennifer says, confidently, "And when they do you'll need me."

"They won't," Allison says, skipping down several stairs towards the emissary. "They worked out where the Nemeton is. They're going there right now."

"They'll be too late," Jennifer doesn't seem bothered, "They will all die, sooner or later. They can't run," she glances around the loft at everyone, "I thought they'd be here, but I guess plans change."

"What's your plan?" Stiles challenges, "Kill them all? Why bother waiting until now?"

"You know why, Stiles," Jennifer laughs, "I have an eclipse shining down on me tonight. I have a fifteen minute window of darkness when the moon is in the earth's umbral shadow and not one of you wolves, or coyotes, hunters or even a banshee can lay a finger on me then. And then I win."

"You need to find them first!" Allison snaps.

Jennifer narrows her eyes, but doesn't say anything.

Allison takes a deep breath, and then glances at Stiles. He nods and she turns back to Jennifer, "We know where Deucalion is," Allison shrugs. "We can take you there."

Jennifer arches one eyebrow, "And why should I trust you?" she asks.

"Because if you don't we'll kill you right here," Allison snaps, "The eclipse hasn't started yet."

"Will you? _Girl_?" Jennifer sneers, "Argent," she draws the word out as she examines Allison, "The French word for silver. Over time myths and legends have changed it, so that it's the metal, not the family that harm werewolves. I find it fascinating how history can change over so little time."

"Yeah, well, we're still waiting for the vampire family called Soleil to turn up," Stiles snaps, drawing her attention back to him, "But right now our enemy is the alphas. Not each other. Not unless you make us your enemies."

Jennifer looks interested despite herself. Derek shakes his head in the background, "Guys, don't…" he says.

"Shut up, Derek," Stiles snaps, turning to glare at Jennifer, "You took our parents as sacrifices, but they're not dead yet, are they?" He waits for her to shake her head slightly and sparing a moment of pure, blessed relief he continues, "You have the power from the nine people you've already killed which means you have the power to end Deucalion. You don't need to kill our parents to do it."

"Why shouldn't I kill them?" Jennifer shrugs, "I finish what I started and if I kill them then killing Deucalion will be easy. They'll be the last piece of the puzzle."

Allison steps forwards, "We'll help you kill Deucalion," she announces, and Jennifer blinks in genuine surprise, "He bit my mother. He's tried to kill us all already. He's the real enemy here. So if we help you, you help us. You let our parents go."

Derek hisses between his teeth, "Allison, Stiles, don't…"

"And what's to stop you turning around and killing me with your arrows or claws?" Jennifer says, "And don't tell me you won't. I know how Gerard Argent really died."

Stiles grits his teeth, and he curls his claws even further where they are already digging into his palms. "I want my dad back," he bites out, "And right now you're the only person who knows where he is. If I kill you then I'll never find him."

"There's another reason though," Jennifer's smile grows triumphant, "Isn't there? Where's Scott?"

"Scott went with Deucalion," Allison tries not to let the bitterness into her voice, "He's with Deucalion and so we… we're with you."

Derek meets their gaze over the Darach's shoulder, eyes shadowed. He doesn't say anything.

Jennifer smiles, "I was going to ask Derek," she admits, "But now his eyes are blue, well… I guess we have a deal."

Stiles can't help but think it sounds a lot like a deal with the devil.


	23. Eclipse

"Won't that just qualify as a sacrifice anyway?" Isaac asks, backing away from Kali and the twins who are stalking forwards, "All you're doing is killing them for her."

Kali scoffs at him, as if he's five years old and she's trying to explain something really, really obvious. "Interrupting the sacrifices with three murders will disrupt her power. In theory. Let's put that hypothesis into practise and see, shall we?"

Malia snarls, eyes flaring blue and Isaac knows his own eyes are glowing gold with the power of the moon. "We won't let you kill them," Malia snaps, looking like she wants to run, but also like she wants to rip out Kali's throat with her teeth. Isaac has seen the same expression on Derek's face before.

"Who's going to stop us?" Kali laughs, "You? Two betas who don't even have an alpha? Hell… you're practically omegas. A broken shifter who can only turn into a coyote and a boy who has nobody to turn to. It would have been kinder for you if Derek had actually killed you, but oh well. It makes no difference. You're still going to die."

"Ethan… Aiden…" Isaac glances around to them. Aiden ignores him.

Ethan pulls a face that is almost apologetic, "She's right," he says, "It's us or them, and we don't really have much choice."

"Stay and die, or run and live?" Kali asks, "Which will it be?"

"We're not letting you kill them," Isaac decides, because if he had wanted to run, he would have left with Erica.

"Then I'm sorry," Ethan says.

"I'm not," Aiden spits out, yanking off his shirt and punching his brother in the shoulder. Isaac's got a working theory that they need skin to skin contact to fuse, because the punch goes straight through Ethan, Aiden's fist merging into his twin's back as their shoulders slide together.

"That," Malia says, "Is disgusting," seconds before she is forced to duck a kick with a clawed foot from Kali. Malia skids to the side and Isaac dances backwards, trying to work out how to do this. Last time it took five of them to even hold their own.

How are they going to cope with just the two of them?

Malia grabs his arm, pulling him and herself out of the way of the two alphas, as if she's making to run. Kali's swipe misses and the female alpha skids in the dirt, spinning around and setting her red alpha eyes on them. She starts forwards, feet slamming in the dirt and leaping towards them.

That's about the moment a car erupts out of nowhere and slams into her.

 

"Do you even know how to drive?" Lydia shouts, as Derek goes off road.

"Thank god you're not wrecking Laura's Camaro!" Cora screams at her brother, as Derek takes his SUV over one particularly violent pothole, "You better still have that car, I want the keys and insurance and there better not be a scratch - mind the tree!"

Derek spins the wheel, jamming the gas and they miss the tree. Just.

"Is this your idea of 'do something'?" he snaps.

"Left!" Lydia says, "The Nemeton is to the left."

"Are you sure?" he asks, but he does so anyway. Lydia's going on what Stiles and Allison have told her, and her own knowledge of the forest. The car teeters slightly, but then rights itself and finds some sort of forest path to drive along. Lydia can feel it, like a pulsing wave in the corner of her head and the closer the sacrifices get to being completed, the louder and more vibrant the wave is becoming.

"Right," she says, and Derek turns. Her eyes fly open when she realises he's turned the wrong way, and that's the second he slams on the brakes as something slams into the windshield.

Cora swears. Lydia stifles a scream, clutching her seat belt for dear life.

"Are we there?" Lydia asks, even as Derek and Cora fumble to get out of the car. Lydia follows, making sure to grab the baseball bat she hasn't let go of all night. She trips her way out of the car, almost walking straight into a wide-eyed Isaac.

"Well you took your time!" Malia says, and oh, Lydia thinks, they're not there. They're not there because Isaac and Malia needed help.

Big help, if the looks of the windscreen is any indication.

"Where the hell were you?" Isaac actually finds time to question them, but seconds later he is forced to duck under the giant alpha twin’s form as it lashes out at him. Lydia skids to a halt. All she has in her hands is the metal baseball bat she had borrowed from Stiles, and she is not cut out for this.

"We had to stop for gas," she shrugs, "And then you know me, I saw this deal I couldn't not buy, had to pick up some pedicure vouchers for she-wolf over there…" Lydia glances to where Kali looks slightly dead. Slightly more than dead. The car had hit her with the force of a… well… a car. Lydia remembers Jackson had climbed straight up after the same had happened to him, but she's pretty sure Jackson has never been impaled by a tree branch going through the windscreen at the same time.

Her throat is thick and clogged up but she doesn't scream, she holds it down.

"I don't think she's gonna need those vouchers," Isaac says.

A hysterical laugh escapes Lydia's lips. "Go!" Derek shoves her backwards out of the way of the fighting, "Go get the parents!"

She casts one look back, but the twins, although large and currently in the process of throwing Malia across the clearing, they're outnumbered now.

She spins around, her sweaty palm clutching a baseball bat that isn't even hers and running towards where she knows the Nemeton will be. There is no question in her mind, she knows with absolute certainty. She doesn't stop, doesn't falter lest it slip away.

Right now the Nemeton wants to be found.

And she's going to find it.

 

Cora can't get the damn car door open.

She bets Derek left the child lock on. Or maybe it's the tree the SUV is leaning against. There is a branch going through the windshield, the same one that a dead alpha hangs off like some sort of barbaric sacrifice. "Do you think that counts?" she asks nobody in particular, "As killing an alpha?"

"I don't think so!" Derek shouts, ducking a blow from the twins and punching them in the chest. His eyes are the blue that Cora has always known them to be. It's nice. Reassuring. It's very Derek and it feels like home.

The punch does nothing: the fused form barely flinches, just grabs Derek with ease, flipping him over so her brother ends up flat on his back, a clawed hand descending.

Isaac crashes into them, but despite the force he hits them with, they barely move. Cora growls, giving up on her door and slides across to Derek's side, throwing herself out. The car's not looking too good right now. Cora is just glad it's not the Camaro.

Malia is shoving herself up, blood trickling from her head and her whole shoulder wrenched out of its joint. Cora makes her way towards the girl to help her when Malia's eyes widen on the twins and Isaac behind her. "Look out!" Malia screams, as the giant twins let out a roar and swipe out, Isaac directly in their path.

Derek knocks Isaac out of the way. And Cora's moving before she even realises it. She jumps on them mid-lunge, and on instinct she digs her claws into the thick necks of the two twins and rips the double spine in two.

They separate with a sick crack and it's almost too easy.

"That," she says, "Was for Boyd. And because I've been dying to do it since you decided locking Isaac in a small space was a fun idea." She lets go of them, tumbling clear as they drop to the ground. By the time they hit the ground it is as separate people again. Cora doesn't care. Shaking blood from her claws, she turns away from their fallen bodies. "Isaac?" she asks, racing over to him, "Isaac, are you okay?"

Isaac shoves Derek off him, much to Derek's consternation, "I… I'm fine…" he blinks at her, "How are you?"

"I…" she pauses, trying to think, "I'm good, yeah. Really good."

"I'm great," Malia pipes up, from where she's really not looking good, "Thanks for asking."

"You… you uh…" Isaac peers past her to the twins, "You saved me," he blinks, "Wow… I think… I think I was just the damsel in distress."

Cora laughs. It's weak and it's like a spring bubbling up inside her, but it's genuine. "Are they dead?" she gestures to the twins.

Derek shrugs, as if their health is really the last thing on his mind right now. He actually appears to be more concerned on whether Cora and Isaac are going to start making out in front of him, "I think they're healing."

"Are you sure?" Malia looks sceptical, "I'm pretty sure I heard their spine snap. But we can always rectify it…"

"Well, y'know," Isaac says, shoving himself to his feet as Derek helps Malia up. "The bigger they are…"

"What comes next?" Cora asks when the phrase just stops.

"Uh… I don't know. Coach just likes to say it."

"Come on," Derek says, and he doesn't even warn Malia as he clicks her disloacted shoulder back into place. Malia flinches away from Derek with a snap of teeth, but at least her arm is no longer hanging limply at her side. "We need to get moving…"

"What about the twins?"

"Leave them. There's no time! We need to go help Lydia with the parents and I need to check on Scott."

"Which way?" Cora says, because she doesn't know where to find a dead tree and Lydia's scent is already fading fast.

That's when Malia tilts her head, spinning around, "Do you guys hear that?" she asks.

And Cora listens. There's a whining in the distance, and she remembers running from it under a full moon and--

"An emitter," she says.

"Not just any emitter," Malia takes off, shouting back to them, "One of Argents!"

 

"Maybe we should send her a message," Scott suggests.

"Why encourage her? She already wants me dead. What more motivation could she need?" Deucalion doesn't tap his fingers or fidget impatiently. He just stands there, his sightless gaze staring out over the distillery. He holds his cane between his fingers, and his gaze flickers unnervingly to where Scott stands, watching the moon rise.

"The eclipse is coming," Scott says, pointlessly, "Maybe she's going through the rest of your pack," he spins around, walking back to Deucalion.

"I'm sure they can handle themselves," he doesn't sound worried, "And as for me… well I've got you, haven't I?"

"And what if she doesn't come?" Scott says, just to be petulant.

"Oh, she'll be here," Deucalion says, "You found me after all…" he pauses, "How did you find me, Scott?"

Scott's breath catches in his throat, because it's not like he has the guy's number programmed into his phone, nor does he want his number. It's bad enough he still has his English teacher turned Darach's number. He tries to think of an answer that isn't 'we were sneaking around your apartment' but that's the moment Deucalion turns, hearing something.

Scott turns too, but slower. Jennifer is striding forwards, a dark smile on her face as she takes in Scott standing next to Deucalion.

And either side of her, lingering slightly back, Stiles and Allison meet each other's gazes once.

Scott's aware of Deucalion's sightless eyes falling on him, "Did you plan this out, Scott?" he laughs, sounding a little surprised, "Did you tell your friends where to find us?"

Scott ignores Deucalion, gazing at the pair standing next to Jennifer, "What are you doing here?" he hisses.

"She knows where our parents are," Stiles shrugs as if in reply.

"She's going to kill them," Scott snaps.

"Not if we help her," Allison argues.

"Not much of a pack now, are they?" Deucalion murmurs in his ears, voice low.

Scott flinches away from the alpha werewolf.

"You're not much," Jennifer sneers, "A demon wolf, hiding behind a teenage boy?"

"Finished sacrificing people?" Deucalion parries back, "Maybe it's time to show us what killing nine innocent people gained you. Is it even enough?"

"For you?" Jennifer sneers, "It's plenty…"

Scott barely gets a warning. Just the druid's eyes flaring bone white as she slams out her hand. The power radiating from her crashes into him, knocking him backwards. He finds himself flung half way across the distillery before he even realises it.

Pushing himself to his feet it's to see Allison lunge at Deucalion with her pair of ring daggers. Deucalion bats her away like it's nothing but she does succeed in getting one dagger in across the alpha werewolf's chest.

With a snarl Deucalion's face shifts. And for a moment, one terrible, awful moment, Scott thinks Deucalion's human form is going to fall away to something furred and monstrous.

It doesn't. But what stands there is almost worse. His face is distorted, mouth slightly lengthened into a muzzle and skull half-shifted between human and wolf. His eyes flash a deep red and when he steps forwards, it's to fling his cane out like a spear. Allison rolls, and it pierces the ground where she had been lying seconds before.

Stiles lunges. His friend lashes out but Deucalion is faster. He catches Stiles' arm, using his grip to unbalance the teenager. With power Scott didn't know a wolf could possess, Deucalion throws Stiles to one side, flipping him around as he does so. Stiles crashes down the other side of the distillery, gasping for breath.

Jennifer's face twists into a snarl and she steps forwards, shoving out her hands as if to throw Deucalion  backwards like she had done to Scott.

Scott feels the wave of power. He even sees it ripple through the air but Deucalion…

Deucalion doesn't even move. He just looks amused. "Cute," he says, voice a cross between a wolf's growl and his usual human. "Is that all you've got?"

And then he backhands Jennifer, sending her crashing down at the entrance to the distillery.

 

The tree trunk is massive.

Lydia could lie on it, and still have room for Scott, Stiles, Malia and Allison to all lie down beside her. She finds the trapdoor just beyond it, tugging it open and clambering down the stairs.

She is met with three, dust-streaked and tired glares that soften almost instantly, "Lydia!" the Sheriff says, in pure unadulterated relief, "What are you doing here? And is that Stiles' baseball bat?"

"What does it look like?" she says, half sliding, half climbing down to the floor. Outside the wind roars, tugging her down into the hole in the ground, "I'm on a rescue mission! And yes, it is, I call her Betty."

"Where's Stiles? Where's my son?"

"And Scott?"

"Allison…?"

"They're dealing with Jennifer and Deucalion. Isaac and Malia were with me but the alphas turned up. We need to get away from here…" she stops talking as she begins to untie the Sheriff's hands. The rope is thick and it barely moves as she tugs at the knots. With a silent scream Lydia digs her nails uncomfortably into it, tearing at it until it comes undone in her hands. The Sheriff tugs his hands free, moving to his legs so Lydia moves on to Melissa.

"Are you all okay?" she asks, looking around. Chris is impatiently waiting to be untied, and the Sheriff is making short work of his own bonds.

"We're alive," Melissa says, "I guess that's something."

"More than they were," Lydia mutters, because she's going to have nightmares about her friends being dead for sixteen fucking hours.

For sixteen hours, her friends had been connected to what is left of this tree. She turns to look at the roots that had haunted her without her even realising it. The path they trace is familiar, and her hand twitches to draw it out, to map it down on paper. The roots run deep, soil trickling loose around them as there is a particularly loud howl from outside.

With a crash the trap door slams and Lydia spins to it, Melissa tugging the last of the rope off her.

"We need to go!" Argent snaps out, and Lydia is in agreement.

That is, naturally, the moment the stairs leading down wobble, and then crash down as part of the ceiling caves in. Lydia and Melissa shield their heads, ducking away from it. The Sheriff lurches to tug them away as the roof begin to crumple down, with them still trapped inside.

 

"I think this kill should be yours, Scott," Deucalion grabs Jennifer by the back of the neck, dragging her up to where Scott has pushed himself into a standing position near the back of the distillery, "It's only appropriate, don't you think?"

"But…" Scott shakes his head, "No…"

"This storm?" Deucalion presses, "It's her doing. She's connected to the telluric currents. And right now? Right now she's using it to bury your parents alive. They're dying, Scott. You can save them, but only if you kill her."

"You think killing me will end it?" Jennifer laughs, her gaze meeting Scott's, "You think he'll leave you alone then? He won't. He won't leave you alone until he's dragged you through the dirt, bleeding and broken with nothing left to lose."

"Come on, Scott," Deucalion snaps, "I grow impatient. Become the alpha you were meant to be."

And just like that, Scott knows what he's doing.

As if he'd ever forgotten.

"If I kill her," he says, "Then I won't be an alpha."

Deucalion laughs, "You're not an alpha yet, Scott."

Scott shakes his head, "You're wrong," he says, because it's so damn obvious, "I'm already an alpha."

"Not much of an alpha without a pack," Deucalion laughs. He drops Jennifer onto the floor, stepping forwards with a growl that teases Scott's shift out of him. He blinks, his eyes glowing and he doesn't know what colour, but at Deucalion's expression he thinks he has some idea.

"But that's the thing," Allison steps forwards to stand next to him, knives glinting, "He has one."

"Anyway," Stiles steps up to his other side, "Scott tends to leave the killing to us."

"But you…" Jennifer gasps out, "You were meant to be helping me! If you don't your parents are as good as dead!"

"Scott…" Deucalion growls at him. Scott steps forwards, as if trying to shield Stiles and Allison from the demon wolf. It doesn't work. They just end up standing shoulder to shoulder. "I thought we had a deal!"

"Uh… we kind of… we lied?" Scott almost asks it, hesitantly.

"We lied through our teeth," Allison, says, triumphantly, the hint of a laugh in her voice, "We're not on either of your sides."

"It's adorable just how wrong you were," Stiles laughs.

"This isn't our fight," Scott emphasises, "We weren't even ten years old when this started, and we're not letting you come into our town, murder people and just let you get away with it. You wanted a fight! So here you are! You get your fight!"

"Gerard always said," Stiles laughs, "The best way to defeat an enemy is to let somebody else do it for you." His grin is wolfish, bared and almost primal as his usual dark eyes pale to blue, "Such a shame he couldn't be here to see this."

"But we'll give you a little help," Scott says.

"Y'know," Allison says, "Because you did bite my mother after all."

Scott tosses something small and silver to Jennifer, where she lies sprawled on the floor. She catches it, taking it in, and Scott says the same thing Gerard said to him, "Deucalion isn't always blind."

And before Deucalion can move, with a triumphant grin Jennifer flings the flash arrows onto the ground.

 

Isaac takes off after Malia with Cora next to him. The wind is like claws, tearing through the trees as they cross the small expanse of distance left to take them to the giant tree trunk in the middle of the woods.

Really, it's a miracle they haven't found it before. But Isaac doesn't have time to contemplate the scenery, his gaze searching for a trap door.

There isn't one.

At least… there clearly was one. Now there is only a pit where it used to be.

"Ah, screw this," Isaac says, going first before the girls. It's a drop to the ground but he lands, sliding over and appearing next to where Chris Argent is scrabbling with his ropes and the Sheriff is trying to shelter Melissa and Lydia from the flurry of sliding dirt and rock.

The roof is collapsing.

Isaac swears because the large slab of earth directly above them is slowly but steady trying to crush them to death and he doesn't even think as he grabs hold of it with a growl.

"Isaac?" Chris blinks, "Cora?" seconds later the two girls are there, eyes glowing as they assist him in supporting the roof.

"Can you get out?" Cora says.

"Out where?" Lydia snaps, "The stairs are gone and we're not werewolves!"

Chris joins Isaac in straining against the roof threatening to crush them. "Is it just me?" Isaac says, fighting off impeding panic, "Or is this place getting smaller?"

Cora meets his gaze, and the moment that Isaac was tempted to close his eyes and curl up tightly comes and goes. He fights off his claustrophobia, shoving upwards, even as the sky drops down on them. It's getting heavier. He's not sure why that's possible.

"Well we're all going to be a lot thinner," he tries to joke.

"Really?" Cora snaps, "A Star Wars reference?"

Isaac doesn't even bother apologising.

"The eclipse," Cora says, and her eyes are brown, "Our strength… we can't hold it…"

And no wonder Isaac is struggling. He's a human trying to hold up several tonnes of rubble and dirt pressing down on a rocky plate.

He wants to laugh, because he's pretty sure there is irony somewhere in there, but he has neither the time, nor the English skills to search for it.

 

Stiles tugs Allison to one side and Scott, their overprotective alpha, shoves them both out of the way as a brilliant white light flares out in the distillery. Slamming his eyes closed, Stiles concentrates on Allison curled against his chest, and Scott with his arms around the both of them.

When Stiles finally opens his eyes it's to silence and shadows. Scott peers down at them in concern, which is quite an accomplishment considering Stiles is actually taller than him. Scott's un-shifted, and Stiles is as well.

Stiles is un-shifted and for the first time since he was bitten, he can't hear the wet, bloody thump of beating hearts.

He never would have thought that he'd miss it.

"The eclipse," Scott chokes out, twisting his body around to look at where Deucalion and Jennifer had been standing. Stiles blinks little white flares from his eyes, and Allison staggers out from next to him to join Scott in looking around the distillery.

Deucalion is there, human once more and turning around with panic. He can't see. He is, for once, a blind man. He has no wolfy senses, no red glowing eyes, nothing. He's as blind and deaf as Stiles feels, if not worse.

"Where's Jennifer?" Allison asks, and Stiles' stomach just sinks because she's no longer lying on the distillery floor. She's nowhere to be seen.

"Look out!" Scott shouts, as with a ripple of the storm outside rolling off her in waves, Jennifer appears in the doorway. Except this is not Stiles' English teacher. Not this torn, pale skinned slashed up person. She's barely recognisable. It's like her face is made from wax and it's been melted, blurred into this monster before him.

Deucalion turns, but not quickly enough. Jennifer's pale gaze roves over the three of them standing there, but she thankfully ignores them, going straight for the demon wolf. She grabs the man by his shirt, and even though he's larger with a thick, corded muscular body, she picks him up like he's made of straw and then slams him down.

Deucalion lets out a pained cry as his head smashes against the stone. The Darach crouched over him bares her teeth in a feral grin, lifting him up and slamming him down and down and--

"She's going to kill him," Allison whispers in horror. Stiles doesn't think it's the killing part that's bothering her, as much as the way Deucalion's skull keeps cracking on the cement.

"Jennifer!" Scott snaps, "Jennifer, stop!"

She pauses, but doesn't let Deucalion go from where the man is hanging like a rag doll from her fingers. He's healing, but without the moon it's slow. A few more hits in the right place and she'll break something vital and this time he won't be coming back.

Stiles shoots his friend an 'are you crazy' look but Scott misses it, too busy stepping forwards trying to placate the Darach. "He can't see you!" Scott says, "He can't see what you've become!"

"See me?" Jennifer says, and even her vocal cords are distorted.

"He's the reason you're like this. He's the reason you spent so many years planning revenge. Do you really want it to be over like this? Do you really want him to die not knowing the full consequences of his actions?"

The argument sounds weak in Stiles' ears. But Jennifer appears intrigued. Well… as intrigued as someone whose expression bleeds into their face with scarred, distorted claw marks. "No," she muses, turning to where Deucalion's sightless eyes search in vain for something to see. Something… anything… With a laugh Jennifer lays her hand over his eyes.

And then Deucalion screams.

 

Malia is the first to drop, her shoulder twinging.

"I can't hold it!" Cora snaps, still straining upwards, "Malia… help…"

"I can't…" Malia says, gasping for breath and searching out the Sheriff. He's next to Lydia and Melissa, all of them trying to hold the roof up but with all of them human, none of them can hold it for very long.

Maybe, Malia thinks, they don't need to.

If she were Stiles she would find a solution to the problem. And looking towards Lydia, she thinks she just has.

"Lydia!" she shouts, "Use Betty!"

"Betty?" Isaac repeats, with a frown, but Lydia knows what she means. Grabbing the metal baseball bat lying on the ground, Lydia darts forwards to the largest part of the rocky platform and shoves the metal bat in as a support.

Cora slumps, and Chris drops down, and there is an awful pause as the wind howls and earth shifts but the rocky roof threatening to crush them… just steadies, less than half a metre over their heads.

There's an awful pause in which Isaac asks, "Is that _wood_?" sounding horror struck as he stares at their saviour.

"Aluminium," Lydia says, "I hope."

"You _hope_?" Isaac says in disbelief, "Yeah, you better hope."

"Stiles called his bat ' _Betty_ '?" Cora says in disbelief.

"I like it," Malia says, because it's the one thing keeping them alive right now.

The Sheriff lets out a laugh, staring at her in wonder, "You're my favourite adopted daughter ever," he admits, and it's the best thing Malia has ever heard. She crashes into him with as much care as she can trapped underground. She thinks she might be crying. He laughs, full of joy and happiness and lets her cling to him.

 

Allison watches as the man who killed her mother writhes in agony.

She hopes it hurts, she thinks, even as he stops screaming. He blinks like… well, like a blind man seeing light for the first time in years. His head rests back onto the bloody concrete, gazing towards where Scott stands with Allison and Stiles to his left and right hand respectively. There is wonder in his gaze that is torn away as Jennifer grasps his chin, tugging the alpha's gaze to her. "Now do you see?" she mocks, and Deucalion lets out a weak moan, trying to close his eyes against the sight of her, "No, look at me! Look at what you did!"

Deucalion looks, unable to turn away. With her eyes flaring white with power, Jennifer brings back her fist, as if to bring it crashing down on the alpha's skull when a shudder goes through her. She gasps, and her form shimmers back into that of Allison's English teacher.

"What--?" she asks, trembling as her hand uncurls from the fist, "What is this?"

Allison glances sideways, meeting Scott's gaze as he explains, "You healed him. You used up your power to do that, you don't have the strength to kill him now."

Jennifer falls back onto the ground, away from where Deucalion lies, still healing painfully slow. Her gaze looks up to the three of them, "Then you kill him," she says, and Allison doesn't know which one of them she's talking to but she doesn't care, "You kill him. End this now and your parents will live."

Allison wants to kill him. She does, and maybe in another world she could be that person. Maybe in another world she would become her worst nightmare.

Less like herself. More like Gerard.

More like Kate.

She sees the same thoughts in Stiles' eyes, because if she's Kate's shadow, shouting _"Come on!"_ to monsters in the shadows; then he's Peter with blue eyes and blood soaked claws. There is only one difference.

They have Scott.

"No," Scott says, and there's a light in his eyes. At first Allison thinks it's his usual gold beta glow, but then… "There's been enough killing," he says, stepping forwards, "Let them go."

Jennifer's gaze widens. Allison is too busy looking to where Scott's eyes glow brighter and brighter and it's not gold. Not with that flush of orange that now she thinks about it, she's been seeing for months now.

Stiles is looking at Scott too, and they both see the moment that orange finally eclipses the gold, sparking into red. Scott blinks, and she wonders if he can feel it.

"No," Jennifer scrambles to her feet, because Scott's eyes are red, and the eclipse outside is over. The golden glow that had permeated the air ends, the night returning to its usual greys and blacks and the full moon beams down on where she stands, "If you won't do it, then I'll just finish this myself," she sneers, not looking intimidated at all as Scott steps forwards.

He almost walks straight into the black dust Jennifer throws down. It shimmers blue under Scott's hand and Jennifer laughs.

"You're not getting across that," she sneers, "In a few minutes I won't need a lunar eclipse to finish what I came here to do."

"Mountain ash," Stiles skates the edge of the line, his fingers trailing the blue shield that springs up from where he touches it. He can't get much further, but Scott, when he pushes, actually succeeds in bending the shield slightly.

"Wow," Allison deadpans, "However am I going to get over that?" And she grins as Jennifer startles, just as she toes a foot through the line.

The blue shield collapses with a small wave of sound and power. Scott steps over it and Jennifer stumbles back, falling to the cold hard ground. She scrambles back away from them, but she's too weak to actually do anything. "Going to kill me?" she asks, "If you kill me you'll lose those pretty little red eyes."

"If you don't stop the storm," Stiles says, voice eerily calm, "Then I'll kill you myself."

"I'm an alpha," Scott says, looking down on her, "And this is my pack. This is my territory. And I really don't want to have to let Stiles kill you, but you're not giving me many options here."

"I'll give you another one,” Deucalion announces from behind them. Allison turns, knives out but the British man is too quick, sliding past Scott with his claws out and she's too late.

Jennifer drops to the ground, her throat ripped open. Deucalion freezes, Allison's ring dagger to his throat.

"Allison," Scott says, and she pauses.

"You bit my mother," she says, meeting Deucalion's gaze. He stares at her, actually seeing her for the first time, but he doesn't say anything. It's probably safer for his continued existence.

"Allison," Scott says again, "Allison, leave him."

"He's not worth the effort," Stiles drawls, and she presses her blade down hard enough to draw blood, then steps away.

"Spread the message," she says to him, stepping away from where he stands over Jennifer with her clawed out throat, "Beacon Hills is protected."

"Yeah," Stiles moves around to join her, and their last piece, Scott, moves to stand with them. Stiles' eyes are dancing with a new light that Allison hasn't see for a while, "This town already has an alpha."

Scott looks like he would probably blush if it wasn't for the seriousness of the moment.

 

The storm abates suddenly. It's like someone turned the switch off, like the connection to the storm was broken abruptly. Still clinging to the Sheriff, Malia pulls away, meeting the dirt streaked gazes of her friends.

Of her pack, she thinks, and coyotes usually live alone so there must be more wolf in her than she thought to revel in the feeling of everyone being there.

Lydia tugs out her phone, and nobody asks who she's calling.

"Yeah?" their alpha says, picking up almost straight away, "Lydia? Is everyone--"

"We've got them. They're all safe. They're fine, they're alive--"

"Dad?" Stiles' voice comes over the receiver, and then it's snatched away by Allison.

"Dad, are you alive?"

Chris laughs, "Allison, I'm fine…"

"Stiles?" the Sheriff calls, "Are you and Scott…?"

"Oh thank god," Stiles says over the line and Scott's voice echoes back, strongly now.

"We're great. We're brilliant, actually."

"Yeah, so are we," Lydia laughs weakly, "We'll just… wait here then. Under a dead killer tree… with a ceiling that is being supported by Stiles' baseball bat…"

"We'll be right there," Allison says.

 

Derek pulls up his slightly battered car outside the distillery.

"What happened?" Stiles asks in genuine disbelief as he takes in the Camaro with the hole through the windscreen and the blood splattered glass. "Did you run someone over?"

"She was in the way," Derek says, as if that's an arguable defence in court. "Where's Deucalion?"

"We let him go," Scott says. "With warnings."

"I quite liked your 'he'll never see us coming'," Allison says, as if it's a compliment, "He looked suitably cowed."

Derek blinks at them, "You three are crazy," he says, as if that sums everything up.

Scott grins, his eyes flashing red and he looks at his two best friends, "Yeah," he says, "I know."

And he wouldn't want it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just an epilogue now. I'd ask if anyone wanted me to do 3b, but at this point I'm probably gonna do it regardless. I don't know when I'll write it, or get it up at all considering I'm starting university next week and at the moment it's just pages of notes (at least they're in some semblance of order this time). A hundred thanks to everyone who has kudo-ed, bookmarked, or commented on this. You guys are all amazing!


	24. Pack

"Is it over?"

They don't have a ladder, but with werewolf strength and a set of ropes dug out of the back of Derek's slightly smashed up SUV they get everyone out in one piece. Stiles clings to his dad as if he's scared to let go. Scott hovers nervously until Melissa sweeps him up into her arms because at the end of the day, alpha or not, he's still her son.

Allison sobs into her dad's chest because Deucalion might not be dead but she feels more accomplished than she probably would if she had killed him. Revenge is a nice plan in theory, but after revenge what do you have? She's seen Kate: a woman who pretends to be fine but on the inside is worse than the monsters she hunts. She's seen Peter: a broken, flawed thing who not satisfied with killing those responsible, will continue killing until his bloodlust is sated.

But Allison isn't Kate and Stiles isn't Peter and they have Scott.

And she has her dad, and he holds her close, breathing in the smell of her hair. For a moment her chest aches, and she can't breathe. For a moment she's drowning all over again but then it's gone and she's okay.

They're all going to be okay, Allison thinks in amazement. They are all alive.

Something in her mind twists like an old wound and no, she thinks, not really, but it will be okay.

"It's over," she answers her own question, "It's over."

 

The darkness isn't a physical thing. Stiles almost wants to capitalise it to The Darkness, but it's not that important. He won't let it be.

He feels the same.

He's not sure if that's good or bad.

His thoughts still trip along the same pathways, and he worries for his friends and his father and for school and life in general. He finds himself wondering where Jennifer got to. He finds himself wishing Scott had let him follow her fading scent, instead of turning away, satisfied that both Deucalion and Jennifer were alive, but broken. So he had followed Scott, allowing himself to believe that it would be the last they saw of either of them.

But a part of him, a part that if he's brutally honest, has always been there, wants to make sure. A part of him wants to chase down those who have threatened his friends, his pack, and wants to rip them into shreds. He wants to make sure they are very, very dead.

He can't blame that on the darkness. That instinct was always there.

He's aware of it more when he looks at Scott or Allison. There are moments when he meets their gazes and then he's drowning again with that suffocating feeling shoving down on his chest. It feels like his head is going to explode. It feels like there are shards of ice and mistletoe digging into his heart, worming their way deeper…

Then it's gone. He can still feel its imprint, and he knows that this was the price. This was the cost they had paid.

And he'd pay it again, every single day if it gets him this.

"We did good," Malia says, curling up next to him on his bed when they finally, eventually, crawl back home. They've showered, washing away the dirt and grime and Stiles is listening to his dad's heartbeat, loud and reassuringly alive as he makes various phone calls to his deputies. Malia sounds half-asleep, and Stiles resigns himself to having a coyote blanket taking up half his bed sometime soon. He doesn't have the heart to kick her out, and she seems to sleep better here than she does when she's staying at her dad's. "We did good," she says again, voice pleased, "Didn't we?"

"Well," he corrects her, idly.

"What?"

"It's did w… you know what never mind. And we were the best. That's us. Team Wolf."

"And coyote."

"And coyote."

"And hunter. And banshee. And…"

"Okay, I get the point," he concedes the argument.

She grins, that slightly sheepish, but absolutely adorable grin. "You going to stay up all night?" she asks him.

There is a pause in which the Sheriff appears in the door, checking on both of them, "You two okay?" he asks, gently.

"We're good," Stiles says, exchanging a grin with Malia, "How about you?"

His dad considers the question for a while, "Been on the phone to Rafe McCall. That's a headache. I'd thank you for covering for me, but now he thinks I spent the past few days camping in the woods when in actuality I got kidnapped by a Darach. What the hell a Darach is, I'm still not clear on. Maybe it's time for me to bail… this town is so messed up."

Stiles' gaze drifts down to his phone, "Yeah, well we won't have to worry about her anymore," he says, dropping it on his desk. What Scott didn't know wouldn't hurt him - he hadn't complained about Gerard, after all.

"Tomorrow I'm having bacon and eggs for breakfast," the Sheriff announces.

"Dad, no."

"Dad, yes. Now go to sleep. You've still got school on Monday, and I don't care if you were dead, you're still going."

The Sheriff wanders off, muttering under his breath about supernatural children. Stiles collapses on his bed besides Malia. She sniffs at him, pressing to his side as if reassuring herself that he is alive, "Don't die," she murmurs, falling asleep on him already.

"Hey," he teases her hair under her ear, "I'm still alive, okay? And we're gonna stay that way."

"Good," she declares, burying her face in the spare pillow Stiles has started to think of as hers, "But if you do die, I'm having your bed."

"We do actually have a spare bed for you, y'know."

"But yours is so much more comfier."

Stiles doesn't even bother arguing the logistics of personal belongings with the coyote anymore. With a content sigh he shoves her over slightly and curls up in the middle of the bed. After make a noise of protest, Malia burrows against him, her breathing already deep and even.

Stiles falls asleep soon after, too tired to dream that night of the tree whose roots are buried into his head.

 

"I've got it."

"Got what?" Lydia asks her friend who is grinning, bright-eyed at her as they turn up at school the next week. There is a spring in all their steps, as if they didn't die, didn't fight off alpha werewolves, as if everything is normal.

It's a nice change and Lydia thinks she can get used to it.

"I mean… I've had it planned for ages, but I told dad. I actually told him and he agreed."

Lydia just raises one eyebrow, waiting for Allison to spit it out. Her friend takes a deep breath, then recites a sentence in flawless French.

"Nous protégeons ceux qui ne peuvent pas se protéger eux-mêmes."

Lydia translates it slowly in her head, her smile widening to match her friend's grin. "To protect," she says, "That's your motto, isn't it?"

"Basically it means 'don't fuck with my squad," Allison says, "But yes. We protect those who cannot protect themselves. I told dad. He's gonna finish training me and we're going to stick it out here. I don't have much left to learn but I'll be officially a hunter."

"Will you teach me?" Lydia says, without even really thinking about it, "Will you teach me how to fight?" Allison blinks, looking confused and Lydia tugs down her shirt collar to show the ring of bruises, "I don't want to be the victim," she says, "Not if I'm going to be attracted to dead bodies on a regular basis."

Her best friend smiles, nodding slowly, "You just want to learn how to shoot my bow."

"I don't want to touch that thing," Lydia threatens.

"Of course not…"

 

"I'm staying in Beacon Hills," Cora tells her brother.

"I know."

She takes a deep breath then pauses, because out of all the things she thought Derek would say, that was not one of them, "What do you mean _'I know'_?"

He looks up at her like it's obvious. There is a hint of a smile to his lips, "I know," he says again, infuriatingly calm, "Where else would you go? You have a pack here, I can't ask you to leave that."

"It's not an official pack," she says, "I mean… Scott didn't bite me, he hasn't claimed either Isaac, Stiles or I, I don't think he even realises that, but he's got Allison and Lydia and I don't even think it matters. They all feels like pack. Maybe it's because Scott's a true alpha, or maybe it's because we don't go through something like that without being closer but it… it feels right. It feels like it hasn't felt since the fire."

“You’re… involved. With Isaac.”

“And you. Can’t form. Whole sentences,” Cora grins at him, "Yes, why? Is it a problem? I like him. A lot. And to be honest he's a lot better than the other options."

Derek shakes his head, “I’m glad,” he says simply, smiling at her, gentle and warm and impulsively, she leans forwards to him. She doesn't hug him. She's not really the hug-sort of person and neither is Derek. She just stands there, breathing in his scent.

"You're leaving," she says, "Aren't you?"

"Just for a bit," he says, "I need to sort some things out in New York. And I'm going to check Erica is okay."

She doesn't ask if he's coming back. She doesn't think he even knows the answer.

"Here," she says, pressing a wooden box into his hands. He seems surprised, and then his eyes widen as he recognises what it is, "Laura gave this to me after the fire. Peter borrowed it for a bit for some reason, but I got it back because I wanted to give it to you."

"Is this…?" he gazes down at the triskele box with wide eyes.

"Mom's claws," she says, "Alpha claws. They didn't burn. Laura collected them and she told me to keep them safe and I… you should have them."

He looks like he wants to give them back to her. Like he doesn't trust himself with them, but she steps away from him before he can.

"It's not your fault," she says, "Never was, okay?"

She doesn't think she can stay there any longer. She heads for the door, pausing only to shout, "Phone me, you idiot!" before slipping out of the loft.

"Okay?" Isaac asks, leaning against the wall as she makes it outside. He's borrowed Melissa's car and flips the keys over in his hand as she emerges, "Derek didn't… I mean… are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she says, and for the first time in a long time she believes it, "So what's this thing we're doing?"

"Dinner," he drawls out, sarcasm lacing his tone, "With the Stilinskis. Stiles and Scott are cooking. I want to be there to see that disaster. We also need to pick up Melissa from the hospital first."

"Scott's already there?"

Isaac nods, and Cora slips into the passenger seat, "Well then," she says, eyes sparkling, "Let's go before Derek remembers you're dating his little sister."

It's amusing to watch Isaac lurch into action with a wide-eyed frantic expression on his face.

 

"I don't know what happened," the Sheriff admits to Melissa, "I have a daughter. God… Claudia always said about how much she wanted a daughter and she would have loved Malia."

"I wanted a daughter," Melissa says, wistfully, "How come I ended up with another son? Want to trade?"

The Sheriff watches Isaac snatch some food from Stiles' hands and bolt, his son squawking indignantly and Malia using his distraction to sneak her own taste of whatever it is Stiles is making. Scott's just standing there laughing, not much help at all. He's pretty sure the other girl with dark red-brown hair isn't either of theirs, but he's also pretty sure she's an orphan and at this point he's of the opinion: the more, the merrier. "Nah," he says, "I think I like them all together like this."

"We should get married," Melissa says, and the Sheriff almost chokes, but somehow manages to remain composed and doesn't spill his drink everywhere, "Then we could just have one house."

There is a pause for half a second, in which the Sheriff thinks that at least none of their supernaturally inclined kids - oh god, all his kids, adopted or not, are all supernaturally inclined - at least none were listening at that moment. After a moment: he and Melissa glance nervously at each other, Melissa letting out a nervous laugh and the Sheriff grinning, chuckling weakly as she shakes her head, "Yeah, no… that would never work… one house and four kids… yeah… no…"

"Stiles and Isaac would murder each other…" the Sheriff agrees, but he has to check he hasn't had an early heart attack.

 

"So the twins…"

"Are alive."

Stiles stares dubiously down the hall at where Ethan is flirting with Danny, and Lydia has gotten Aiden to carry all her books for her like a puppy dog that she's now ignoring, chatting comfortably with Allison.

"I thought Cora killed them," Isaac whistles, "Does she know--?"

"Yeah," Scott says, "It's hilarious - watch…"

Down the corridor Cora emerges from a classroom trailed by Malia. Spotting her, Aiden proceeds to drop all of Lydia's books and make an abrupt turn down a nearby corridor and up the stairs, leaving Lydia rolling her eyes and Cora looking really smug.

"She ripped their spines apart," Scott explains, "Deaton told me she broke their ability to fuse together. They're not alphas anymore and to be honest, I don't think they're much of a threat."

"Are you sure?" Isaac sounds wary.

"They're not a threat to us," Scott says.

"You know I finally read this," Stiles murmurs, waving Conrad's 'Heart of Darkness' as he grabs some books from his locker, "Marlow sure did like his rivets…"

"I think you missed the point of the book," Scott says.

"No, but, I get it. That quote you told me you liked."

"Looking into 'the heart of an immense darkness'," Scott says and Stiles nods, "But it's not that bad," Scott admits, "I feel it but it's…"

"Bearable?"

He nods, meeting Stiles' gaze, then looking to where Isaac is standing. Down the corridor Lydia and Allison are laughing together over something, and Cora and Malia have stopped to join them. "Yeah," he says, "Things are bad but… I look out for you guys and… they get better."

"Don't say that," Isaac mumbles, "You've cursed it now. Murphy's law."

"You're just being pedantic."

"In this town?"

"He's got a point. We've lit the Beacon for all things supernatural."

"Then we'll get through it," Scott says.

"Together?"

"Together." He likes the sound of that.

 

The forest is quiet. In the wake of the huge storm, the paths all lie strewn with branches and twigs. Rivulets of water run over the dry soil, and cracks in the earth run even deeper.

Beneath her hands the soil is mostly stable. Part of it has caved in, a large seeping sink hole the other side of the large, expansive tree trunk that she reaches for.

She's still alive. But barely. Scars ring her throat, just like they slash across her face. But she’s survived worse, she can survive this if she just--

A clawed hand curls over her reaching wrist, tugging it back and twisting until she's on her back, looking up at a man standing over her. "You," she says. She's never met him, but she's heard of him. His sister had been the one with a pure wolf form. Talia Hale had been well known and widely respected. Her brother on the other hand… well, even before the fire he had a less than savoury reputation. "Everyone else suffers but you come out on top."

"Scott still doesn't clean up his messes," Peter Hale sighs, looking down at where the woman pleads with him, "At least someone's on the ball. At least someone noticed you'd crawled away, to come back another day and we can't have that, can we?"

"You're going to kill Scott," Jennifer gasps out, "You'll steal his alpha powers."

"Oh, for if I could," he sounds almost regretful, "Scott McCall will get what's coming to him. I'm in this game for the long term, sweetie. I'm a patient man - I waited six years for revenge. I can wait a little longer.

"It won't work," Jennifer falls back to the earth, laughing, "It won't work, not against them. Not while Scott's here. The Hale's are finished. You won't be an alpha again."

"My dear sister might be dead," Peter growls, "But my family's power lies deeper than blood, deeper even than the roots of this tree you worship so dearly. Hoping she might save you?" he laughs, "She can't save you because you're already dead."

She's expecting the claws that flash out. But it still hurts as Peter rips the life from her. He'd been alive. Then he'd been dead. Now he was alive again, biding his time and now--

His eyes flash an ice blue as Jennifer's blood trickles out onto the dry soil. Her power was his power now and, well, after his resurrection he'd been a bit low in power.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are love and motivation. Let me know what your favourite line is and I'll give you the background to it.


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